


Lannister Blood

by TillyPopp



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst, Dark Past, F/M, Fantasy, Forgiveness, Loss, Love, Magic, Personal Growth, Romance, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 156,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TillyPopp/pseuds/TillyPopp
Summary: Lysandra Lannister has finally returned to her home of King's Landing after being sold to House Frey by her father, Lord Tywin. The Red Wedding has recently occurred, changing the agreement due to Lysandra's safety. But she knows her return comes with many puppet strings attached. Estranged from her family, there's a fire growing within her. A forbidden past with the late King in the North haunts her memories. Mysterious visions begin to plague her psyche upon her return. What do these visions mean? And why does she feel closer to Robb Stark than ever before?*I do not own anything Game of Thrones except for the character of Lysandra and the parts of the story that are original.*I will try to stay as true to the timeline as possible but some storylines may vary. I also may go back and forth between the TV Show & books, though it will mostly follow the show. Except maybe season 8 because I was not a huge fan of the last half. Enjoy!
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters (minor), Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth (minor), Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Robb Stark/Lysandra Lannister, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark (minor)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 81





	1. The Return

I should be filled with joy to return to my home. I should be smiling with relief as I stare at the Red Keep in the distance. King’s Landing was my home for a majority of my life. It wasn’t perfect. My family… is complicated to say the least. But here I am, returned within two years time after being sold to the Freys by my father. I would’ve died there had the deal between our family and the Freys not gone awry. That, or I would’ve slaughtered them all. But that didn’t mean I was happy to return to the people who didn’t think twice about sending me off in the first place. I’m not the same person anymore. I won’t put on a show. The Lannister name means nothing to me. Not anymore.

And there they stood to greet me at the docks. King Joffrey Baratheon, his betrothed Margaery Tyrell, my sister Cersei, and my brother Jaime. Joffrey’s protectors stood a few feet behind, ready to carry out any orders within seconds. The men escorting me help me off the boat and I walk the rest of the way unaccompanied. I curtsy when I’m close enough for greeting.

“Your Grace.” I say as politely as I can muster. The words taste like vinegar.

“Aunt Lysandra.” Joffrey’s cocky smile is unsettling. “It’s been a long time.”

Margaery hugs me without warning. “You must be ever so grateful to be home, my lady.”

“Yes.” I say, briefly making eye contact with my siblings. “Very. Lovely to see you.”

When she releases me, I nod to Cersei and Jaime.

“Time has treated both of you kindly.” I say.

“You look no different from when you left.” Cersei says curtly, though she masks it as a compliment.

“You look beautiful.” Jaime says, receiving a grimace from Cersei.

I look back to the sea.

“Where’s Tyrion?” I ask no one in particular.

“Who cares?” Joffrey spits.

I begin to walk past them. “And father?”

“Occupied.” Cersei replies. I can hear the smugness in her voice.

“Ah, yes.” I attempt to hide my sarcasm. “He’s a very important man. Thank you for gracing my homecoming, Your Grace. I shall treasure it always.”

Joffrey looks pleased. “Well, you are family.”

“Yes.” I nod. “Family is the most important thing. May I bring myself to rest? I’m very tired from the journey.”

“Fine.” He waves me off. “We celebrate tonight. Though, I’m sure most of the people don’t remember you. No one important anyway. I’m sure they’ll remember what they used to call you before your departure. What was the name again?”

I clench my jaw. Cersei smiles. Jaime averts his eyes.

“The Whore, Your Grace.” I say.

He smiles. “Yes. That’s the one.”

“My love,” Margaery says. “Lady Lysandra needs her rest. Would you care to join me in the gardens? I long to hear the stories of your bravery once again.”

I narrow my eyes. Joffrey is so taken by the invitation that he doesn’t notice. Perhaps my nephew has truly met his match.

He offers his arm to her. “Yes, yes.”

She smiles at me and the two walk off without another word. Cersei pulls at Jaime’s arm but he shrugs her off. He reaches out to me, carefully enveloping me in an embrace. I lightly touch his back, not wanting to hold him for longer than I have to.

“Welcome home.” He says gently in my ear.

I step away from him. “Thank you, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime gives me a look. “Come on, Little Shadow. There are no formalities between siblings. I missed my sister.”

“I haven’t had a family in two years.” I say. “I’ve rather enjoyed it. Excuse me.”

With a wounded Jaime at my back, I head towards the Red Keep.

***

My chambers are exactly how I left them that morning. Everything has been kept clean and perfect. Though, I can’t help but feel that this room belonged to someone else. A stranger of the past. Perhaps that person is no longer with us.

“Father made sure to keep it the way you liked.” Jaime says, running a hand along one of the windows. “It’s almost as if he knew you’d be back.”

I sit on my bed and remain quiet. I can feel him staring at me now.

“I have to know,” He says. “How long are you planning to be angry with me?”

I look at him innocently. “I’m not angry. I’m tired and wish to be left alone.”

“You really should be grateful.” He says. There it is, that cockiness I grew up with. “If you had been left any longer, you may have ended up in the assault. You could be dead, you know.”

“Like Robb Stark.”

“Robb Stark imprisoned me.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard stories.” I glance at his golden hand. “Sorry to hear about the hand.”

Only I didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. In truth, I had wept when I heard of Jaime’s imprisonment. My heart ached for him when I heard of the loss of his hand. I was almost able to forget about the fact that it was his idea to sell me to the Freys in exchange for an alliance.

Almost.

“You know what they’re calling it, don’t you?” I break the tense silence. “The Red Wedding. Fitting, I suppose. Considering they murdered Robb’s wife and their _unborn child_.”

I practically spit the last of my words. Jaime averts his eyes.

“A high price to pay for an act of war.”

I bolt up from my bed, slamming my hand on the nearest wall.

“A _wedding_ is no place for war.”

Jaime sighs. “Well, you’re away from them now. You’re safe.”

“Am I?” I snap. “I thought you’d be less of an idiot the next time I saw you.”

“We’re family.” He fires back. “Nothing will happen to you. They won’t come for you. If they do, you’ll be protected.”

“You think it’s them I’m worried about?”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion.

I step closer to him, lowering my voice.

“Do you think it was a coincidence that our father sent for me only a short while before the slaughter?”

The notion clearly rattles Jaime, but he quickly composes himself. He clears his throat.

“The important thing is that you’re home safe and unharmed. Where you belong. With us.” He smiles at me.

“I’ll let you get some rest.” He gently touches my arm before heading to the door.

“Brother.” I say as he opens the door.

He turns to look at me expectantly.

“If you truly believe living under the control of Walder Frey left me unharmed... I’m afraid you’ll be very disappointed.”

A moment of silence strains between us before Jaime casts his eyes to the floor and closes the door behind him.

“And there is no us.” I add quietly to the empty room.

***

The atmosphere of King’s Landing is just how I remember it. The stench, for one. But it’s somehow welcoming and brings a sense of calm as I walk through the Street of Flour. I used to cherish these bakeries as a child. Father would catch me here instead of reading in the library like he ordered me to. It wasn’t the reading I didn’t like, it was the limitation of the four walls. I wanted to be out in the world adventuring. Not learning history about the adventures of others. Father never understood. No one did, really. Except perhaps Jaime from time to time. It was far less of a punishment for him to find me than father. He’d always sneak me in unnoticed or, if I was being particularly stubborn that day, would say that he couldn’t find me.

I shake off the memory of Jaime holding my hand, guiding me back towards the Red Keep safely. I always felt protected when he was near.

“Lady Lysandra.” A warm baker says, bowing. “Wonderful news to hear you’re back home again.”

“Thank you.” I say kindly. I hand him some money in exchange for a pastry.

“Thank _you_ , milady.” He smiles, disappearing into the building after another bow.

The pastry is a little dry, but I’ve never been one to mind when it comes to sweets. I almost have a ghost of a smile on my face as I continue walking through the hustle. I receive a few snickers and a few head turns, but it doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. These people seem strange to me. Irrelevant, even. They haven’t been my people for nearly two years. I don’t mind if they still think of me as the Whore of Red Keep. I don’t mind anything much anymore. But when I think of Robb… his wife, the child, his mother. No, I can’t bear to think of that.

My celebration will be happening soon. I know what it will really be. More stares, more whispers, more judgement. An opportunity for my nephew to make a spectacle of me as he berates me in front of his people. If I don’t attend, what will he do? Have me beaten? Execute me as he did Ned Stark? I’m sure Cersei would enjoy it. She’s always hated my mere existence. I’ve often questioned why, but have grown tired of her cunning games. She’s the reason of my shameful brand in the first place. The worst part wasn’t that four men forced themselves upon me, it was the knowing. Knowing that they were sent by Cersei as revenge for accompanying Jaime on a quest. Rumors began to spread when I wouldn’t leave my room for days. The men were killed, courtesy of Jaime and Tyrion, but I don’t think father every truly believed my “story.” That was the first time I was shipped off. A little over a year at Casterly Rock to escape from prying eyes and damning whispers. I had went from Lysandra the Gentle, the Golden Heart, to Lysandra the Whore.

Things were never the same after my return. I had lost the respect of the people, finding a suitor was more difficult than before, and I was facing this new outlook alone. Jaime had drifted further into Cersei’s clutches than ever before and Tyrion had his own demons to trifle with. I knew I had dishonored myself and my family through no fault of my own, but those years on my own made me stronger than ever before. Had I not had those years of solitude in my own home, I may never have survived House Frey. Even so, betrayal was what I felt when the announcement had been made. I may have been unwanted by father, Cersei, even the people, but I was family. This was my second home.

I catch a glance of the Mud Gate and find myself longing to flee. Where, I don’t know. Back to Casterly Rock, perhaps. Even with my reputation being tarnished, I always felt accepted there in my time away from King’s Landing.

I sit in the closest ally I can find. I let the dirt and dust cling to my simple gown, hugging my legs to my chest and resting my chin on my knees. I’m home, but what is home to me now? And if I truly am home, why do I feel so alone?

“You’re not an easy woman to find.”

I don’t even have to look up to know who the words belong to.

“Brother.”

Tyrion moves to lean against the other wall of the alley. He waves a hand.

“No, no. Don’t get up on my account.” He says. “We’re practically at eye-level for once.”

“How did you find me?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Because I _know_ you.”

I cross my arms. “I must have missed you at my homecoming.”

“Yes, apologies for that. I was tending to my wife.”

“Sansa Stark.” I say. “How is she?”

“As to be expected.” He replies. “Not eating. Barely sleeping.”

“Stupid question, I suppose.”

“A thoughtful one.” Tyrion corrects. “It’s good to see you, sister.”

“Is it?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Of course.”

I give him a playful smile and outstretch my arms.

“Come here, little brother.” I say.

Still kneeling, I welcome him into a brief embrace before we both sit on the ground. He shakes his head.

“How can you survive a day like this without wine?” He asks incredulously. “We should be drunk by now.”

“Ah.” I nod. “So we can exchange witty remarks and pretend as if all is right in the world. A classic Tyrion resolution to any problem.”

“It beats the latter.” He shrugs.

A tense moment of silence passes between us.

“I missed you.” I say. “It doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“No more than I can forgive myself.” He says solemnly.

We look at each other for a moment. A sort of understanding formulating between us. We begin to rise and the same time, dusting off our clothes as much as we can.

“So,” Tyrion says, gesturing the way back. “Shall we drink?”

“I have a celebration to go to.” I say.

“Fuck the celebration.” He says. “Fuck Joffrey. Sansa’s safe. Starving herself and praying, but safe. Spend the night drinking with your imp brother. Let me worry about the _king._ ”

“What will people think?” I feign horror.

“That we’re broken wastes of life who shit on the Lannister name.” He says triumphantly.

I nod. “I suppose I can drink to that.”


	2. The Forgotten Lion

“Drink! Take a drink, right now,” Tyrion shouts.

“I will not!”

“Did you, or did you not, bathe with Bronn in Blackwater Bay?”

“She did,” Bronn says with a wink.

I glare at him. “You are a liar. I did not!”

Tyrion raises his hands. “Alright, alright. Keep your secrets.”

“There is no-”

“You don’t have to admit that you’ve always been infatuated with me,” Bronn waves me off.

I roll my eyes. “Alright _._ Two can play that game.” I lean forward and narrow my eyes. “You were in love with me when I left.”

Tyrion’s eyes widen. He looks at Bronn who has now lapsed into silence. Bronn glances at both of us before chugging from his goblet. I smirk and Tyrion scoffs in disbelief. He shoves his friend’s shoulder.

“I knew it!”

“Fuck you,” Bronn says. Then he points to me. “There was a time when you wanted the Hound’s cock.”

They both raise an eyebrow at me. I clear my throat, then reach for my goblet and take a drink. They roar with laughter.

“The Golden Heart and the Hound?” Tyrion wheezes. “Stop it! I suppose I’m an idiot for not seeing it in the first place.”

“It was a long time ago. He’s a friend now. Well, sort of. Was,” I reason, but their laughter doesn’t cease. “Oh, you two are cruel. Narrow-minded and cruel!”

“Does he know?” Tyrion asks.

I glare at him.

“Someone _must_ send word to him. Where do you think he is now, Bronn?”

I grab the nearest knife and point it at him. “Do that and I’ll slit your throat you insufferable man!”

He smiles, genuinely. “Ah, there’s my lion. Hear her roar? Magnificent.”

“Are you gonna tell us about your bloody time with House Frey or…” Bronn grabs the knife from me. “Do we have to cut it out of you?”

I stiffen a little. “That’s not how the game is played.”

“Come, now.” Tyrion says. “Are you truly going to make me guess?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I say, venom slowly lacing my voice.

“You will.” Bronn says, pouring me more wine. He raises his cup. “To Lady Lysandra, the annoying fuck who won’t stop leaving King’s Landing.”

Tyrion raises as well. “To my elder sister. May she brandish her golden locks with courage and honor among these fools. And, should she find him one day, may she make passionate love to The Hound.”

“To the hope that the next time I leave this place it’ll be permanent.” I clang my goblet against theirs and the three of us share a boisterous laugh.

“Are you completely mad?” A new voice sounds from behind me.

“Join us, brother.” Tyrion beckons to Jaime.

I turn to Jaime whose eyes are narrowed at Tyrion.

“You realize she’s under my guard?”

“Lannister’s don’t need guards.” He waved him off.

“This Lannister does.” Jaime says, giving me a pointed look.

I roll my eyes, turning my back to him.

“Joffrey sent you to fetch me?” I take a drink.

“ _King_ Joffrey.” He reminds me. “But no. Father would like a word.”

For a split second, I can feel my blood run cold.

“When I didn’t see you at the gathering,” He continues. “I figured I’d find you here.”

“I told you we should have played by the water.” I say.

“He would’ve found us there, too.” Bronn says.

“You didn’t find me.” I say to Jaime.

“Except I did.” He says playfully. “You can’t avoid him forever, you know.”

“He’s right.” Tyrion says. “Father keeps trying to avoid me and yet I just keep showing up.”

More laughter. Jaime cracks an amused smile.

I stand up abruptly from the table, nearly knocking over my drink on the process. Tyrion, Bronn, & Jaime make a move to help me but I wave them away.

“You know, Jaime, I think I will see father.” I point dramatically past him. “Take me to him, good ser.”

Jaime steadies me in his arms when I take another loose step. I cup his chin in my hand.

“You have a Lannister face.” I say. “It’s a good face.”

Jaime looks at Tyrion.

“What in seven hells have you done to her?” He chuckles.

“How do you know it was my doing?” Tyrion feigns hurt. “She’s a changed woman, our sister. Coerced me into the whole thing.”

“It’s true.” I slur a little. “I coerced.”

“See?” Tyrion points to me.

Jaime rolls his eyes. “I’m taking our sister for a walk. No doubt our father would rather see her… in a better state.”

“Take me to father.” I say, pushing past him.

Jaime grabs me. “No, you don’t. Let’s go.”

“Take good care of her, brother!” Tyrion shouts after us.

“She’s fragile.” Bronn laughs.

I glare at Bronn playfully, pointing a finger at him.

“You and me,” I say. “Sparring tomorrow. I’ll knock you on your ass.”

He whistles approvingly. “I’ll be counting down the hours.”

“Alright.” Jaime says, finally dragging me out of the room.

***

The torches light the waves of Blackwater Bay as Jaime and I sit in silence. I don’t even realize I’m humming until Jaime gives me an unamused look. I smile lazily.

“Are you only going to be kind to me when you’re drunk?” He asks.

I snicker. “Probably.”

He shakes his head. “What were you thinking?”

“Thinking how much I love wine.” I hum to myself.

“Not attending your own celebration is just going to raise all sorts of questions.” Jaime scolds. “You may not like being a Lannister but you are. You’ve been gone a long time. You need to gather the respect of the people before it’s too late.”

“They’re not my people.” I reply. “And it’s not as if they’ve respected me these past few years. Besides, as soon as father finds another use for me I’ll be shipped off at the next convenience. What’s the point?”

Jaime grabs my hand, making me look at him. “These _are_ your people. If you truly believe they feel ill of you, prove them wrong. Not right. Show them who you are. Show them what they’ve forgotten. Do that, and they’ll protect you.”

“Do I need protecting, brother?”

He looks uneasy. “You’re my sister. I’ll always think you need protection.”

I narrow my eyes. “Father has _big plans_ for me, doesn’t he?”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” He smiles. “I suggest meeting him when you wake tomorrow. Don’t keep him waiting any longer.”

“And what of Cersei?”

“Our sister loves you.”

I snort. “About as much as she loves Tyrion?”

“Just tread carefully. No use of making enemies just yet.”

I sigh. “So you want me to bend the knee to my nephew, negotiate with my father, earn the people’s trust, and try not to start a war with my sister.”

“That about sums it up, yes.” He smirks.

I nod sardonically. “And back into the lion’s den I go.”

He pokes my shoulder. “You’re a lion too, you know. Don’t forget that.”

The next thing I remember is falling asleep in my chamber.

***

_You’re a lion too, you know. Don’t forget that._

I shield my eyes from the unforgiving sun as I slowly come to. I groan from the pounding in my head and rub my temples gingerly. I can see a blood red dress draped over the table with gold embroidery.

“Your father requested you wear this to greet him.”

I jerk suddenly, slightly injuring my neck.

“Apologies, my lady.” A young woman with long, black hair says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m your new handmaiden.”

I rub my neck. “Of course, you are. I’m assuming you have a name?”

“My name is Stalia. I’m here to assist you with whatever you desire, Lady Lysandra.”

“I _desire_ a _lavender_ dress, Stalia.”

“But Lord Tywin-”

“My father can take his fashion advice elsewhere. Lannister colors are dull and outdated.” I cautiously stand to appease my throbbing head. “Well? Lavender, please. I like lavender.”

The dress she fetches is new to my eyes with two golden lions across the breast. It’s a deeper shade of lavender than I’d like, but it’ll do. It’s beautiful nonetheless. After I’ve changed, Stalia fixes my hair with three entwined braids across the crown of my head. The rest of my hair flows in long golden waves down my back.

“Thank you.” I say, rising from the mirror. “Off we go.”

Jaime is already waiting outside the door. He gives me the look of annoyance only a sibling can give when he eyes my dress.

“Is there no one else in the kingdom that can guard me?” I ask, brushing past him with Stalia close in step.

“You wound me, sister.” He follows. “Is there anyone you’d trust more for protection than your own brother?”

I ignore him. “Stalia, I trust you’ve met my cocky brother Ser Jaime. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He’s rather important.”

“It’s an honor, Ser Jaime.” Stalia smiles politely. Jaime nods in return.

“The pleasure’s mine.” He says absentmindedly. He looks at my attire again. “Must you scorn father at every turn?”

“The plan is to negotiate, brother.” I reply. “Not kiss his feet. Besides, anyone who’s too busy to greet their own daughter has every right to be scorned. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Perhaps the meeting will go well, my lady.” Stalia offers.

“Where are you from?”

“Dorne, my lady. King’s Landing has been my home for quite some time.”

I smile. “Dorne. A lovely kingdom. Perhaps you can go back after my father finds a way to have me executed. Though our time has been fleeting, Stalia, I have enjoyed it. Perhaps you will last longer with another lady who isn’t marked for death.”

Her eyes widen with fear. “Surely Lord Tywin wouldn’t-”

“The lady jests.” Jaime interrupts with a charming smile, gripping my arm too tightly. “She shares our brother’s humor.”

“Shouldn’t you be with the king?” I ask pointedly, pry his fingers off of me. “Surely he’s far more worthy of your protection. Though, I suppose I _am_ better company.”

“The king is well protected.” He answers. “I’ve made sure of that. My duty right now is to protect you.”

“From father?”

“From yourself.”

“Ah.” I smirk. “Well, I can be rather dangerous. Just ask Walder Frey.”

I can feel Jaime’s shocked eyes on me. He leans closer to my ear.

“Lysandra-”

“Oh, look.” I smile, pointing to the nearest doorway. “We’re here.”

I feign excitement as I turn my back to the door to face Jaime and Stalia. I point between the two of them.

“You two will remain out here so I can reunite with my dear father. Understand?”

Stalia bows her head slightly. “As you wish, my lady.”

“I’m going in with you.” Jaime says.

He tries to open the door but I block his path. “You claim you’re here to protect me? Do your job out here.”

“You’ll be more likely to sway father if I’m present.” He insists.

“I can handle father on my own.” My voice is now ice. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been on my own for a while now.”

Stalia shifts uncomfortably. I glance at her, then back at Jaime. I compose myself.

“Keep her company?” I put my hand on the door and Jaime covers it with his own.

“Tread carefully, Little Shadow.” Jaime says, his voice low.

“You look old when you worry.” I say.

He removes his hand and stands firmly to the side. No doubt he’ll be listening as carefully as possible to storm in within a moment’s notice. My own personal bodyguard. The one time I don’t want him by my side, here he is. A bit ironic.

I take a silent breath and walk through the door.

A heavy silence fills the room, making my footsteps echo in a way that strikes fear into my heart. I know I can’t let it get the best of me. I let the fear turn into the silent rage that’s been festering within me for a long time. And then I see him. The same heartless old man with the familiar look of power and hatred on his features. I see Jaime, myself, Cersei, even Tyrion. I see everything I hate, everything I love. As he stares down at the parchment on the table, I remember the speeches about what it meant to be a Lannister. How family comes before everything else. What a twisted version family is to us.

I know he’s aware of my presence. But he’s biding his time. Maybe he doesn’t want to look at me. Maybe he can’t. I don’t think I care either way.

_And who are you, the proud lord said,_

_that I must bow so low?_

_Only a cat of a different coat,_

_That’s all the truth I know._

The song is chilling from my lips. The song that was played before the slaughter no doubt. As I approach the table, he finishes the verse.

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

_a lion still has claws,_

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_

_as long and sharp as yours._

He finally looks at me. “Hello, Lysandra.”

“Father.” I greet, placing my hands on the chair to his left.

“You look different.” He says, crossing his arms in ease.

“Captivity seems to have that effect.”

“Captivity.” Tywin huffs. “Lions are never captives.”

“Perhaps only by other lions.”

He motions to the chair. “Have a seat.”

“Not until you tell me what you plan to do with me.”

“I plan to do nothing with you.” He snaps. “You’re home. Isn’t that enough?”

“No.” I say. “Don’t think I’m naive enough to believe you actually brought me back to save my life. I was of no use to you dead and now I want to know why I’m truly back here. What do you intend? Wait until you can sell me off to… who, exactly? Will the Boltons be next?”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“And I’ll act like a killer next.” I slam my fist against the table. “If you think you can use me as a pawn yet again I’ll make sure it’s the last stone you throw at me, father.”

He looks at my fist, then back at me. The eerie calm chills me to the bone, but I don’t yield from his stare. He motions to the chair again.

“Sit.” This time a command.

After a moment, I slide the chair out from under the table and have a seat. Tywin sighs.

“I did what I had to do for this family.” He says.

“For this family, or for you?”

His eyes narrow. “You sound like Tyrion.”

“Well, he is my brother. Your son. Has old age made you forgetful?”

I can see his jaw clench as he leans forward. “And I am your father. Be mindful of the way you speak to me.”

“You will always be the father that sold his daughter to the Freys.” I snap. “The _Freys._ Did you really think I’d be grateful? You left me with them for two years. All of you had a hand in it, but it was _you_ who initiated it. You stopped being a father when you sold me to those creatures-”

“And yet, here you are.” Tywin interrupts. “Sharp-tongued and stronger than ever before. You’re a Lannister, as you always have been. As you always will be. When I sent you to the Twins it was not because I wished it. It was because I trusted you to do what was necessary for our family. You have not disappointed me.”

“And what of Robb Stark? His mother? His wife? His unborn child?” I seethe. “What of that? As children, we grew up to believe the Lannister name was full of power and honor. Where was your honor then? Has that gone to shit as well as everything else we used to stand for?”

“Their deaths ensured the end of a war!” Tywin shouts. He composes himself. “Though I suppose words of war strategy will not ease your heart.”

“Do not speak of hearts as if you have one.” I say. “I’m no longer convinced my own still beats. Something we now have in common.”

“I suppose the loss of the Stark boy has caused you much anguish.” He replies, and there’s almost a look of sympathy in his eyes. Perhaps pity.

My fingernails dig into my palms.

“I did not know them well.” I say evenly. “But despite your hatred for them, they were good. Strong and kind. Perhaps kindness is weakness, as you’ve taught me. But they didn’t deserve the fate you laid for them. What was done to their bodies…”

“You loved him.”

My eyes lock with his. I gain my composure a moment too late. He looks at me knowingly. As if he’s disregarding everything I’ve just said.

“I don’t-”

“My eyes are everywhere, my daughter.” He says coolly. “Not just in King’s Landing. You really think I truly ever let you out of my sight? That you could keep any secret from my ears?”

Oh, but I have. A secret that will follow me to my grave and nowhere else.

I can feel my eyes begin to sting. I force the urge away.

“I did not know Robb Stark.” I say.

“My love for you,” He sighs. “Your love for him, did nothing to dissuade my actions. I did what was right. To protect the Lannister name. To protect our family. The Stark name is finished.”

I blink back my tears and rise from the table. My father looks at me with the familiar smugness and resolution in his face. He even smiles faintly.

“Welcome home, my daughter.” He says, taking my hand gingerly.

I hold his firm. I smile to hide my sorrow. My pain.

“I’m home, father.” I say. “And as long as I am in King’s Landing, you will not destroy the people I love. Should you try to control me or ruin this family further, you won’t face the wrath of the old gods or the new. You will face me. I will swear that to you. And I needn’t remind you that a Lannister always pays their debts.”

I pull my hand from his grasp. My cold eyes stare into his own.

“Give the small council my regards.” I say, disappearing the way I came.


	3. The Young Wolf

“If you two don’t stop following me, I’m going to fling myself off the castle wall.”

“Just tell me what happened,” Jaime says, exasperated. He tries to grab my arm but I wrench it from his grip.

“Touch me again and you’ll lose the other hand,” I snarl.

To my frustration, he looks amused. “It got you to stop walking, didn’t it?”

I look to Stalia. “Leave us. Go… tend to my chambers or something. Go for a walk, I don’t care!”

She bows to the two of us. “Of course, my lady. Ser Jaime.”

“You didn’t have to snap at the girl,” he teases. “You’re becoming testy.”

“Will you stop?” I snap. 

His expression dampens a little. “What did father tell you?”

I release my clenched fist, feeling the pain of holding it for longer than I realized.

“Nothing,” I say. “That he’s happy to have me back. That he did what was necessary for our family.”

I make sure to leave his accusation of my feelings, and my threat, out of it.

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Because it’s a tactic, Jaime,” I reply. “You know our father. He manipulates until he gets what he wants. Sound like someone else we know?”

He furrows his eyebrows. Then he gives me a look as realization comes through.

“ _If_ father is planning anything-”

“He is.”

“Cersei has nothing to do with it.”

“You can’t be serious,” I glance over my shoulder, weary that I’m raising my voice. “After everything she’s done? You’re _still_ defending her?”

The vulnerability in his eyes makes me back off.

“Fine,” I say. “Just don’t be the fool she takes you for, brother. It’ll get you killed.”

The cocky grin is back. “So you _do_ still care.”

My coldness doesn’t waver. I point a finger at him.

“If not the king, find someone else to guard. You’re through following me around.” 

As I walk away, he calls to me.

“I’m still your brother, Little Shadow.”

“A fact I’d like to forget,” I call back.

**Blackwater Bay**

Bronn slams my blade to the side with ease.

“You’re distracted,” he grunts, rolling his now injured shoulder.

I fall back into proper stance. “I’m learning.”

“Thought your cock brother taught you how to fight. You know, before he was a cripple.”

I duck under his swing and land a swift punch to his shoulder. He cries out involuntary before glaring at me. I smirk.

“I’m learning your weaknesses,” I clarify.

He uses his good arm to point his sword at me.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s botherin’ ya?”

“Besides everything, you mean?”

Our blades sing as they collide in a series of attacks and blocks. Bronn brings his down enough on my wrist to draw blood, making me drop my sword in surprise. He grabs my wrist, twisting me so that my back is against him and his blade at my throat.

“The more you keep your little adventure a secret, the more people will talk.”

“Let them talk.”

“You’re tellin’ me you whoring yourself to all of House Frey doesn’t bother you?”

I struggle against him. “Who knows? Maybe it’s true.”

“And why don’t I believe you?” he says sardonically. 

I slam my heel into his shin, taking the advantage of his loosened grip. I spin out from under him and unsheathe my dagger from my thigh. Before he can gather himself, the tip of my blade is nearly piercing his throat. I smile graciously.

“I win.”

He smirks. “You win. Where the hell did you find that thing?”

My smile wavers momentarily. “An old friend.”

I sheathe my dagger and the two of us collect our weapons. My gaze lands on the water. I’m unsure whether I want to sail away or drown myself. It varies from moment to moment, I suppose. Bronn stands next to me. He wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Was that a wolf?”

“What?”

“On the handle of your dagger.”

I clear my throat. “No. A lion.”

“Right. Show it to me again?”

I raise an eyebrow. “So you can get another look at my thigh? No.”

He grins. “So secretive. You used to tell me everything.”

“Not everything,” I insist playfully.

“Most things.”

I sigh. “It’s been almost two years, Bronn. A lot has changed.”

“Including you, it seems.”

I grimace. “Including me.”

A comfortable but weary silence passes between us as we look across the water into the unknown. I pull the fabric of my dress away from my sweaty skin.

“I hate fighting in a dress.” 

Bronn shrugs. “We could’ve fought naked. I wouldn’t have complained.”

I give him a look.

“Only a suggestion.”

I roll my eyes. “No. It’s important that I know how. Something tells me when I’m attacked, I won’t be in armor.”

“What makes you think there’s gonna be an attack on you? Full of yourself, are we? Seems Lord Tywin doesn’t give a rat’s ass about your return.”

“Make fun all you want,” I say. “I know my father, Bronn. It may not be my death he wants, but he does want something. And he’ll use whatever he can to back me into doing it.”

“Alright. So what are we going to do about it?”

I look at him, eyebrows raised. “ _We_?”

He smirks. 

I narrow my eyes. “ _We_ aren’t doing anything. Don’t think I’ve forgotten you have a price for everything.”

His eyes linger on my features. “Maybe it’s not gold I want.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll keep wanting,” I tease, lightly smacking his face. “I, on the other hand, need more training. So hop to it.”

“You’re relentless, you know that?”

I ready my sword. “So I’ve been told.”

_The young wolf._

I blink in confusion.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“I didn’t say a bloody thing,” he says. “You going mad on me?”

I shake my head. “I thought...forget it.” 

**The Red Keep**

I lean my forearms against the windowsill, looking out over the kingdom below. Stalia sits at a table writing a letter to her family in Dorne. I had to practically force her to sit and write. She thought I’d be angry at the suggestion but I know what it’s like to miss family. Even a dark and twisted one like mine. And yet, here I am reunited and all I want is to disappear once more into the abyss. I envy the dark days at The Twins when I missed Tyrion’s wit, Jaime’s laugh, Cersei’s scowl. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt to be back. Back with the people who sent me away in the first place. I would’ve stayed at the bay until nightfall if Joffrey hadn’t sent me for to be “escorted” back to the castle.

I used to love this view. When I forced myself to read, I would read beside this windowsill. I loved hearing the sounds of King’s Landing in the distance as I lost myself in a fictional adventure or a historical piece. The beauty hasn’t changed, but I have. The loss that aches in my heart makes the sunlight a little duller, the chatter below less pleasant, the ringing of the bells less comforting. I can still see his kind smile, hear his laugh. His touch echoes in my memory. My eyes well up with tears, spilling over as a light wind hits my face. I close them, feeling defeated. 

“You are in mourning,” Stalia says gently. I can feel her eyes on me.

I smile a little, keeping my eyes closed. “You have to have something to mourn, first.”

“I can feel it,” she replies. “You’ve lost something close to your heart. I felt it when I received word of my sister’s passing. Who did you lose, my lady?”

I look at the sun sinking slowly in the sky.

“Someone…” I pause. “Who I’m not meant to miss.”

“Were they… were they at the Red Wedding?”

My fingers dig into my palms so intensely I’m sure I’ll draw blood. I whirl around to face her.

“ _Never_ speak of the Red Wedding to me. Do you understand?” I spit. “I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to think about it.”

Stalia bows her head lowly. “Forgive me, my lady.”

I wipe away my tears as more spill. 

“My father soiled the Lannister name. For the rest of my life I have to be associated with a horrific event that I had nothing to do with,” I say calmly. “It’s grotesque. And people praise him for it. They praise the Boltons. House Frey. They praise the cowards who murdered a pregnant woman. An unborn child. The cowards who chopped off Robb Stark’s head and sewed Grey Wind’s head onto his body. They paraded him around and laughed and sang.”

We both have tears now. 

“You are not like them, my lady.”

“No,” I say. “But I’ll be a reminder of them. Until the end of my days.”

I sink down to the ground, resting my head on the wall behind me. 

“You knew him well?”

“Who?”

“Robb Stark,” Stalia says. “You knew the name of his pet.”

I straighten myself. “I met him. It was brief. And Grey Wind was more than a pet to Robb.”

She looks at me expectantly. The look in her eyes tell me she doesn’t believe that I had only met Robb once. She looks sympathetic. Or maybe it’s pity. Either way, I’m going to discuss my choices with a complete stranger.

“Thank you for your help, Stalia,” I say formerly. “But I’d like to be alone now.”

She hesitates, then nods. “Of course, my lady.”

Stalia opens the door to find Tyrion leaning against the doorway. I freeze, wondering how long he’s been listening in. She bows her head and addresses him before hurrying off. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Scaring off the help?” Tyrion asks, closing the door behind him. “She’s quite a pretty one, if you ask me.”

“I don’t want to talk, Tyrion.” 

“I figured we could spend some quality time together!” he says with an over dramatic pose. “We missed so many opportunities as children.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you want?”

He feigns hurt. “Absolutely nothing, sister.”

“What did you hear? I thought the spymaster was supposed to be doing the spying. Has father promoted you? Or… demoted? Hard to tell these days.”

“No, no.” he says, pouring himself some wine and sitting on my bed. “I merely came to check on my lovely sister. Wine?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“No, Tyrion.”

“Suit yourself.”

A moment of silence passes between us. 

“I heard you knocked Bronn on his ass today,” Tyrion says. “He was rather perturbed from it.”

“Stop stalling,” I snap. “What did you hear?”

He takes a moment to look at me, goblet half raised to his lips. He sizes me up for a moment before setting it down gently. He clasps his fingers.

“That you were in love with the King in the North.”

I keep my hands relaxed, knowing he can read me easily.

“Just because I’m hateful for the way he was killed doesn’t mean I loved him. I barely knew him,” I say evenly. “But he was good. And just because you agree with father’s method of war-”

“I don’t agree with it,” he corrects. “I’d be ill to, in fact. But you should know father better. This can’t be a shock to you.”

“I didn’t-”

“You didn’t think he was capable of such a thing?” Tyrion scoffs. “Lysandra, be reasonable. You are not unwise.”

“You’re telling me you expected father to do this to the Starks?”

He takes a gulp of wine. A grave look is etched on his face.

“I didn’t,” he says. “Hearing him talk about it… it was dishonorable. To say the least. I didn’t know Robb well, but he was a good man. His mother too.”

“They were slaughtered at a wedding, Tyrion.” 

“I’m aware.”

I run my hands over my face. “I don’t want to be anywhere near father. I can’t-I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” 

Tyrion moves to sit on the floor with me. He spills the wine a little in the progress, prompting me to glare at him for a moment. He grimaces and then smiles. He sets the goblet down and takes my hands from my face.

“You will survive this,” he says firmly. “That’s what you’re best at. And if you really want to leave, I will do everything in my power to get you out.”

“An empty promise,” I say. “Father won’t have it and neither will Joffrey. He has his hooks so deep into him that he isn’t even aware. What is it that father says? Having a crown doesn’t give you power.”

“And sneaking out of the kingdom is beneath you?” he replies, amused.

I give him a look. “That won’t work either. There are eyes everywhere.”

“And some of those eyes favor me,” he says, taking another drink and handing me the goblet.

I drink the rest of it and set it aside. 

“Does father know?” Tyrion asks.

“Know what?” 

“That you gave your heart to Robb Stark.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So he does.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “What does it matter?”

“He’s Tywin Lannister,” he says, as if I need reminding. “He’ll find a way to use it against you.”

“Let him,” I say. “He has no proof.”

“So it’s true,” he says in slight bewilderment. “You fell in love with the Wolf King. But how?”

“I didn’t love him,” I insist. “And he didn’t love me. We barely knew each other and I was a prisoner of the Freys and it was a fleeting moment of stupidity.”

“So there _was_ a _moment,_ ” he smiles somewhat gleefully.

“A _moment,_ ” I say pointedly. “Now, will you let it go?”

“Absolutely not!” he scoffs. “You must tell me everything.”

“I must tell you nothing,” I retort, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on,” he insists. “When was the last time you even _looked_ at a man that wasn’t The Hound or Bronn?”

“I do _not_ look at Bronn.”

As the argument turns into playful bickering, my head begins to fill with a sense of fog. Tyrion’s voice seems far away and I can hear the light tune of a violin in the distance. Its tone is strong but too faint to make it out entirely. I stare at the door, waiting for someone to come through with the instrument. Perhaps something sent for me to disturb my loneliness. But the door remains shut and the music grows louder. Not just one instrument but many, as if an entire flock has settled just beyond my doorway.

“Lysandra?” I hear Tyrion faintly. “What is it?”

“Do you hear that?” I ask, my own voice seemingly flooded out by the music.

He looks at me questioningly, leaning his head as if to listen more intently.

“Hear what, exactly?”

“The music,” I say, rising to my feet.

“There’s no music.”

I close my eyes and focus on the tune. I know it. I grew up with it. It’s the same song I sang to father this morning. _His_ song. The Rain of Castamere.

I open my eyes and make my way towards the door.

“It’s father’s song,” I say.

I don’t know whether Tyrion is following or not as I open the door and head out. There’s no one in sight anywhere in the hallway. The music swells and my feet follow it as if in a trance. Is there another celebration tonight? But if so, why couldn’t Tyrion hear it? And why is it playing so loud in my head that I can’t hear my footsteps echo against the closed walls?

I remember the lyrics in my head as I try to familiarize the music placement.

_And so he spoke and so he spoke_

_That Lord of Castamere_

_And now the rains weep o’er his halls_

_With no one there to hear_

I’ve wondered so far that I barely notice Lord Tywin and Cersei speaking with Jaime in the Great Hall. I would’ve walked right past them if father hadn’t spoken.

“And where are you off to?” he growls.

I look at him but don’t really see him. He seems to notice this as he turns slightly to my siblings.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks.

“Perhaps too much wine?” Cersei answers smugly.

“Coming from you,” Jaime quips.

“The music,” I say, ignoring them. “Can you hear it?”

“I believe she’s finally cracked,” Cersei says.

“Are you drunk again?” Jaime teases.

“Stop this foolishness,” Tywin snaps.

“Not drunk!” Tyrion’s voice chimes in. We turn to see him quickly round the corner. “She’s barely had a thing. I, on the other hand, can’t say the same. You are quite fast, sister. I thought I saw you headed towards the Godswood a moment ago.”

“I should’ve known _you’d_ be responsible for this,” Tywin says with disgust.

“Nothing to be responsible for, dear father,” he responds lightly. “Lysandra and I were simply discussing how we wished there’d be more dancing in the castle. Isn’t that right, sister?”

I nod but I’m looking elsewhere. The music grows louder again and I swear I see a glimpse of grey enter the Throne Room. Puzzled, I make my way over as the music seems to fade into the Throne Room itself. Whatever this is, it wants to be followed.

“What are you doing?” Cersei shouts after me. “Don’t you dare walk through those doors!”

“Lysandra!” Tywin shouts. “Come back at once!”

Before I realize it, I’m shoving open the doors and entering the vacant room of the Iron Throne. The music is deafening now, pushing me towards the throne with every sudden step. I look to my left and right. I can see nothing but faded torchlight among the flooring. The windows are darkened by the night sky with only a slim line of moonlight illuminating the throne ahead of me. It seems so much more ominous in its lonesome. As if anyone could have the power to sit upon it. A shuffle up ahead makes me stop in my tracks. A silhouette of white and grey sits to the far right of the throne, close to the archway that leads into the gardens. Two yellow eyes glisten at me within the shape. The music fades to a slight hum in the back of my mind, the fog clears in my head, and realization takes over.

“It can’t be,” I say aloud.

There, sitting in the shadows of the Throne Room, is Grey Wind.

Perhaps not Grey Wind, exactly. More of a wispy image of him. But he’s there, practically glowing with moonlight as I stare in disbelief.

“Grey Wind,” I whisper to him.

His ears perk up in understanding, cocking his head to the side. His yellow eyes seem to glow brighter the longer I look at him. He stood then, his stance strong and ready. I can feel a sadness emanating from him. I take a few steps closer. He hesitates but holds his ground. When I’m only a few feet away, I stoop low and hold out a hand to him.

“I know, boy,” I say. “I miss him too.”

I want him to come closer but he doesn’t. I know why. I didn’t stay for Robb after his marriage to Talisa. I thought it better if I disappeared. I didn’t look out for him. I could’ve warned him if I had known. If I had stayed against my father’s orders, perhaps I could’ve learned of the massacre before it had begun.

My hand drops back to its side.

“I couldn’t stay,” I tell him, tears filling my eyes. “He loved Talisa. I didn’t know what they were going to do to him. To you. I’m sorry.”

Grey Wind bows his head deeply. I’m not sure what it means, but he seems to receive an understanding of my words. His eyes meet mine once more before he turns and trots quickly into the dark hallway.

I hesitate before running after him into the gardens. I look around the familiar scene for any sign of a wispy, bright figure. I wipe the tears from my eyes.

Grey Wind is gone.


	4. Little Shadow

“He said everything’s normal,” Tyrion says. “Just a strange fever is all. Nothing to get worked up about, brother.”

“She’s so stubborn,” Jaime growls. “If she would just talk to me, maybe I could’ve known she was ill.”

“She’s not _ill_ ,” Tyrion corrects. “She collapsed and she’s fine now. And can you really blame her?”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m just saying she has every right to be angry with us. It’ll pass.”

“She’s not angry at _you_.”

“Oh, she is. I’m just far more charming than you.”

Jaime sighs, clearly frustrated.

“Look,” Tyrion says, his voice more sincere. “Lysandra and I were never close as children. We had our moments, sure. But the two of you were inseparable. Surely you must see the confliction.”

“The decision to send her off was the right tactic at the time,” Jaime replies. “At least I thought it was. I don’t know.. Perhaps I’d make a different decision now.”

“The decision was father’s and you know it.”

He shakes his head. “I pushed it through.”

Tyrion puts a hand on his brother’s arm.

“She _will_ forgive you, brother. Eventually.”

Jaime runs a hand over his face.

“I thought it would protect her,” he says. “I thought it was a necessary loss.”

“We all did. I share the blame just as much as you.”

Jaime smirks. “Careful, brother. I think you’re becoming more sentimental by the minute.”

Tyrion waves a finger at him. “Never.”

***

I lurch upward, gasping violently for air. I immediately have a comforting arm around my shoulders. I jolt until I realize it’s Stalia. My hand clutches my chest and I attempt to calm my breathing. I close my eyes and force myself to take a deep breath.

“Lady Lysandra, are you alright?” she rubs my arm.

I massage my temples. “For the last time, _please_ stop calling me Lady when it’s just us.”

“My apologies.”

I push myself up from the bed and move immediately to the window. Gentle daylight caresses my face and I look at the kingdom below. Everything is as it should be. The people are going about their day, the sea is crashing against the shore, swords clash on the training grounds.

“What happened?” I ask.

“They say you collapsed in the gardens,” Stalia says. “Your brothers were rather worried. The Maester said you’re in perfect health. Just some signs of stress.”

“Stress,” I laugh. “I suppose that’s it. I think I’m going mad, Stalia.”

“Why is that?”

“Surely you’ve heard by now.”

“There have been some rumors.”

I bury my head in my hands and groan.

“I need a walk,” I say.

I begin to walk to my wardrobe but Stalia moves in front of me.

“The Maester says you need rest,” she says hesitantly.

I narrow my eyes. “I _need_ a walk.”

She goes to say something, then decides against it. She assists me in dressing in a plum and gold dress. She wraps my hair in an extravagant braid around the crown of my head, then two thick braids flowing down past my chest. A thick, gold necklace complements the dress and rests against my throat.

The walk works better than I hope. Even though I’m looking around every corner for any sign of Grey Wind, the fresh air really helps to clear my head. I smile at the people of King’s Landing and surprisingly get some genuine smiles in return. Stalia talks about her life in Dorne and I speak of the brief time I spent there when I was younger. We talk about what it was like growing up with our families and what we were like as children. She’s surprisingly intuitive and has a lot of ideas for the kingdom, though we both know she’ll never get a chance to express them.

After a while, we sit on a stone bench and admire the beauty of the greenery and flowers among us.

“Are you truly alright?” she asks.

I take a moment before answering.

“No,” I say. “I don’t believe I am. I heard something, saw something, that I couldn’t possibly have seen or heard. I’m afraid I’m going mad.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

I shake my head. “Not until I can make sense of it.”

I see Jaime making his way toward us from a distance. He hasn’t spotted us yet but I know it won’t be long until he does. I take Stalia’s hand and practically drag her from her sitting position. With my back to my brother, I hurry us along.

“Just keep your head forward and maybe he won’t see us,” I say.

“Forgive me,” she says with a smile. “but I find you and your brother rather amusing.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure he sees it the same way.”

“Lysandra!” I hear Jaime call from behind.

I freeze, closing my eyes in defeat. “Damn.”

Stalia gives me a nudge. “He was rather worried. Perhaps you should talk to him.”

I usher her away. “Go.”

With an encouraging smile, she gives a polite nod to Jaime before continuing our walk alone. I turn to see him closing in, a relieved smile on his face.

“You’re alright,” he says, taking my hands.

“It appears so,” I say through a tight smile. “You’re looking well. I reckon it’s nice not to be wearing so much armor for once.”

He adjusts his leather ensemble, clutching his sword for a moment in the process.

“Yes, well I do tend to dress myself quite nicely.”

I shake my head. “Humble as always, brother.”

Another smile graces his lips. He hesitates before letting go of my hands and rubbing his own together. A nervous tick he developed when we were children. It’s easy to go unnoticed but not to me.

“I had hoped you’d accompany me to the library,” he says. “We haven’t spent much time together.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Lysandra, please.”

“Did father send you?”

“What? No,” he scoffs in disbelief. “We just haven’t been able to talk since your return.”

“We’ve talked,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Not like we used to,” he says.

“Well, things have clearly changed.”

I can see the pain in his eyes. I sigh.

“Fine,” I say. “Lead the way, brother.”

The library wasn’t my favorite part of the Red Keep, but it was one of the places where I had the fondest of memories. It was once small but was later expanded after my birth. Mother was always fond of books. It’s strange how quickly the memory of her is fading. I can still just barely remember her smell and the warmth of her embrace. She was powerful and stern, but her smiles for us were always genuine. I see her every day in my siblings. It’s proof that her memory will always live on, even if they aren’t the best examples to do so.

I look around at the various shelves. Some collecting dust, some worn with overuse. There isn’t enough light to fully take the scene in, but it’s enough to illuminate a few tables and some shelves.

“They’ve been adding to the collection,” I say, making my way around the room.

Jaime nods. “Did you read when you were away?”

My fingers hover over a book at his question. I clear my throat, shaking myself from the memories. I grasp the book and blow the dust from its cover.

“Walder Frey,” I say slowly. “had certain rules about literature.”

I look back at Jaime whose eyes are narrowed.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” I say, placing the book back in its crevice. “he didn’t want me filling my head with nonsense.”

Jaime hesitates before speaking again.

“Should I even ask what it was like over there?”

I grimace. “Don’t despair too much, Jaime. It could have been far worse.”

He settles at one of the tables, interlacing his fingers. He gives me a searching look.

“And you don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “Not even with me.”

I trail my fingers along the books, desperate not to hold his gaze too long.

“You want the truth?” I ask.

“Of course, I do.”

I stop and take a moment to calm my heart. Finally, I grab a familiar book off the shelf and set it on the table that Jaime is sitting at. He hesitates before looking at the book questioningly. He eyes me and pulls the book towards him. Then he smiles.

“ _The Secret of Ivy,_ ” he reads. “This was your favorite.”

A ghost of a smile comes across my lips.

“You gave that to me after father told me I was hopeless,” I say. “I wasn’t learning a damn thing.”

He passes his hand over the dark green cover with gold lettering.

“You always picked the books with the prettiest covers,” he chuckles. “I thought you might like this one. I had _no_ idea what it was about.”

“I hated it the first time I read it,” I admit. “I couldn’t understand it. Then I gave it another try and… well, I still hate it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You hate it? You read it all the time!”

“I kept it with me,” I nod. “Not because I liked it, but because you gave it to me.”

Jaime leans back in his seat, realization and confusion struggling on his face. I sigh and sit across from him. I take the book and hold it up to him, the sun glinting off the gold. I point to it.

“I admired this brother,” I say. “I trusted this brother. I _loved_ this brother.”

I set the book down, my hand lingering on the cover before pulling away.

“And then that brother helped send me away,” I say, startled at the sob building in my throat.

I clear my throat as an attempt to hide it and gather myself. I can feel his eyes never leaving my face. It’s like a heavy weight I can’t get away from. I know what my words mean to him, but I can’t lie to him. I don’t want to hurt him. Really, I don’t, but I can’t pretend that what happened didn’t happen.

Finally, he speaks.

“When I was captured,” he begins. “my time away from King’s Landing, it changed me Lysandra.”

I stand. “I’m sure it did. Your hand,” I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.”

Jaime grimaces. “Ah. No less than I deserve, I suppose.”

“No,” I say. “You didn’t deserve it. I can promise you that.”

“So you still love your big brother a little,” he smirks, though his eyes betray him.

I sigh and cross my arms.

His smirk falters and his eyes glisten as they move to the floor. I pause before taking the book and clutching it to my chest.

“I will always love you,” I say. “But trust you? That… I can’t do.”

I start to walk away when his voice halts me. The brokenness of it stops me dead in my tracks.

“Don’t leave,” he says. “Just stay, Little Shadow. Hear me speak.”

Despite everything pulling me to the door, I sit back down with my brother.

***

I stand in the throne room, per Joffrey’s not-so-friendly request. Apparently performing regular kingly duties is necessary of an audience. He also has me standing with the common folk. He said it would be bad taste to have a relative with my reputation at his side with the rest of his present family. Cersei cast a smug smile when that portion was announced.

As I stand beside the whispers and hesitant smiles of the people, my eyes keep lingering on the hallway leading to the now illuminated gardens. I must have seen a hallucination. Did Cersei put something in my drink? My food? It was just so real. I haven’t even heard of a dosage that can provide such vivid imagery. But why hallucinations and not poison? Surely she wants me gone. Though, I suppose it would be more entertaining to see me lose my sanity first. Would she embarrass father in that way? What game is she playing?

I shake it off. There’s no way to know for sure if she is the one who tainted it, if anything was tainted at all. If not hallucinations, then what? How can I be seeing a dead dire wolf and hearing music that isn’t there? I’ve heard of seers before, but they foresee the future. Nothing makes sense. Perhaps the library or someone who practices the unknown could help me. I wouldn’t even know where to start, but I might know someone who would.

“Aunt?” Joffrey calls from his throne.

Breaking from my daze, I look up at his pompous, mocking stare. Cersei sits at his righthand side while guards protect the throne from all angles along with Jaime in front. Amongst the other seats include: Varys, Olenna Tyrell, Grand Maester Pycelle, Littlefinger, and Margaery. Littlefinger’s eyes slither over my figure, sending an uninviting chill up my spine. Like a hungry predator sizing up the tasty meal of his prey. The way he looks at Sansa is even more unsettling. There’s always been something in his eyes that makes my skin crawl.

I straighten my posture immediately, chest held high and strong eye contact.

“My King?”

“Do you have an answer?”

I hold my composure. “Apologies, Your Grace. I don’t.”

There’s a snicker from among the guards. Jaime clears his throat loudly, shooting them a warning glance. Cersei smirks, shooting an approving look at her son whose sole focus is on me. Joffrey raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t answer whether or not you’re still the whore of King’s Landing?”

A worried murmur breaks out among the crowd. Margaery opens her mouth to say something but thinks better of it and keeps quiet. Olenna looks at me with a bored expression which I’m assuming is an everyday look for her. As much as the pit in my stomach plummets, I force myself to stand tall. A polite smile forces itself onto my face.

“Old habits do die hard,” I say. “Though, I will say whoring isn’t my specialty these days. Perhaps you’d prefer to discuss the poverty of King’s Landing rather than your Aunt’s sexual needs.”

There’s a murmur of agreement among the crowd and I’m pleased to see the infuriated look on Joffrey’s face. He stands from his throne abruptly, ready to have me humiliated and possibly even beaten in the center of the throne room by his guards.

“You _dare_ speak to your King this way?” Joffrey practically shouts.

A few of the guards move their hands to the hilt of their swords. Jaime’s jaw clenches. Cersei’s scowl is possibly even more satisfying that her son’s. The innocent smile remains plastered on my face as if it’s been painted on. I don’t waver under their glares and disbelief. If anything, it only fuels my fire. I fall into a half-curtsy before easing myself from the place in the crowd and stepping in front of them, closer to the steps that lead up to Joffrey and the rest.

“Your Grace,” I say, my voice like honey. “You’ve had me stand with our people. Surely that means you care for their needs and have called this gathering as a means to end their suffering.” I gesture to the crowd, making eye contact with several of the common folk who are nodding in agreement. I turn back to my nephew. “You are a true and just King. As an Aunt who loves you dearly, I know you’ll do right by this kingdom. What better way to fulfill your duty than by listening to the woes of the people. It’s a truly marvelous idea you’ve had. Who will be the first to speak, Your Grace?”

Anyone who didn’t know me would assume that I was being sincere in my exchange with King Joffrey. It sounded as if I was encouraging him to not shy away from why he called the meeting in the first place, to do right by the people. But if Joffrey hates anything more than me, it’s wasting his precious time with listening to his people’s needs. My smile grows wider at the thought of him being stuck here for longer than he wanted, participating in something he wants nothing to do with in order to save face. I backed the cowardly lion into a corner without lifting so much as a claw.

And Joffrey knew it.

“Yes,” he says, a rueful smile on his face. “Stop wasting my time. Send the first speaker up. _Now._ ”

His eyes seem black from this distance. They lock on mine with a deadly promise. One I hope isn’t fulfilled too soon. When he looks back to the people, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. We’ll be here for quite some time.

It makes me grateful that Sansa and Tyrion aren’t present. I’m sure Joffrey would have found a way to torture Sansa further in her grief. My heart aches for her in a way I didn’t know I could bear. I knew Catelyn briefly and it was all but pleasant, but the fierce love she carried for her children was evident. I never once questioned that.

The war of Lannister and Stark will likely be the death of us all. This was something I said to Robb Stark in the brief period he was allied with the Freys. I found it strange how kind Robb was when I first met him. Granted, he was unaware of my lineage at the time, but nonetheless he wasn’t what I was expecting. It had astounded me in such a sense that I hadn’t had the heart to tell him I was a Lannister. That came later, courtesy of Walder Frey and Roose Bolton, then Catelyn when I finally met her. We were becoming “too friendly” for their cause. Naturally, Robb hated me just like any Stark would. He nearly killed me when the North learned of Ned Stark’s death. He spared me, though I’m still not sure if it was out of pure hesitancy or my protection under the Freys. He refused me visitation of Jaime during his imprisonment, though the very thought of seeing the brother who betrayed me repulsed me. But I prayed every night that Robb spare his life.

Per Robb’s request and the promise to wed into House Frey, Walder released me into the hands of The Young Wolf. Temporarily of course, as Robb wanted me to witness the fall of my family while also keeping me far away from Jaime. It was childish, I knew, and I never allowed an opportunity to remind him of that pass me by.

Upon victory after victory against the Lannister army, something seemed to change in our demeanor. I certainly wasn’t reacting as he anticipated. I had no love for the family that abandoned me or their namesake, yet I was relieved when my blood relatives remained alive. I shared none of this with Robb, but it was almost as if he saw through my stoic façade. I’m not certain how it happened, but amongst his rise in battle the two of us became unlikely friends. Strained friends, but friends nonetheless.

Then it seemed to grow into something more. Something I couldn’t comprehend. Something I didn’t want to, nor could, admit to myself. As I told Tyrion, there had been a shared moment between us. But whatever I had hoped for was a child’s naivety.

Robb met Talisa. Jaime escaped captivity.

I knew then that I was meant to return to House Frey and remain there the rest of my days. Robb didn’t want me to depart from his hold, but he didn’t refuse my request.

“You mustn’t betray the Freys,” I said, knowing his heart for the young, foreign beauty. “Forgiveness is not in their nature.”

He smiled then, looking solemnly at the Twins ahead in our view.

“I can handle the Freys,” he said.

I sighed, following his gaze to the dark clutches of my new sworn home. I turned back to him, his kind blue eyes showing some form of hesitancy, regret. I briefly touched his cheek with my hand, then let it fall onto his shoulder. Grey Wind whined softly at his side.

“Then follow your heart,” I said.

I turned and walked the rest of the way on my own, disappearing into the shadows.

It was the last time I saw him.

Perhaps seeing Grey Wind is my penance for not encouraging Robb to stand with his alliance. If I had, maybe he would have listened to me. Just maybe. But I didn’t and now he’s dead.

I slip out into the corridor when prying eyes relieve me.


	5. Ghosts of the Past

The beating I received for Joffrey’s humiliation was well worth it. I knew I wasn’t untouchable when I challenged him, but I didn’t care. I still don’t. The guards managed to leave my face intact, per Joffrey’s annoyed request. Just a cut above the right brow. I have a sense that father had something to do with that, not that it matters anyway. I only feel sorry for Stalia having to clean up my blood and soothe the aching bruises forming already.

“They ruined my favorite dress,” I say, wincing at the hot water on my open cut.

The blood had ran into my eye when the butt of the sword cracked against my face. It was most unpleasant, though I was pleased with myself that I hadn’t shed a tear. Nothing they do to me will be any worse than surviving House Frey or any of my miseries before that. I take great pleasure in knowing that.

Stalia shakes her head, working silently on the swelling. My dress is in tatters, showing some of the scars I’d prefer to stay hidden. My torso in particular is decorated with them as if a lavish painting of pain is to be displayed. Very few have seen them. Stalia being one in particular due to her helping me change every day. I didn’t like revealing them even to her, but she hasn’t said a word.

“You don’t need to worry,” I say. “It isn’t as if they can do much worse. Even Lord Tywin would never allow it. Too much of a headache for him.”

Stalia’s jaw clenches. “You do enjoy provoking powerful people.”

“It’s a gift.”

Once my skin is taken care of, she helps me into something softer but still acceptable enough to roam the kingdom in. I’m not sure if I possess the energy to begin with. She fastens the string in the back in a corset-style manner. She doesn’t bother much with my hair. She simply brushes through it, leaving long wavy strands down my back.

“And what does Ser Jaime have to say about what happened?”

I narrow my eyes, turning to her. “Why? Do I detect a fondness you share for him?”

“He’s your brother and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” she says, giving me an exasperating look. “Surely he could’ve done something to prevent this.”

I try to hide the scowl from my face. “Ser Jaime serves the King, not me.”

“But-”

“Thank you for your assistance,” I say firmly. “That will be all for now. I’d like to be alone for a while.”

Stalia hesitates, then bows her head respectfully.

“Of course, Lady Lysandra.”

After a moment, she closes the door behind her. Right before the door latched, I could swear I heard father’s song playing in the far-off hallway. I shake my head. More delusions I suppose.

I make my way to the windowsill, welcoming the brush of the sheer curtains against the warm breeze. That’s when I notice the stack of books left on my small, round table. A note is weighed down with a small stack of gold coins. Already knowing who sent it, I pick up the note and read:

_For the dull evenings cooped up in your chambers. You’ve always been one for sulking. Do show your face more often. It’s a rather soothing sight in this dark world._

_~Tyrion_

I smile, considering visiting my brother this very moment to thank him. But I don’t want to raise questions or worry with my appearance. I’ll stay here as long as I can stand it and hopefully sleep will bring a better morning. I’ll read one of Tyrion’s suggestions and talk to him about it tomorrow. I can’t fathom venturing off anywhere now. Not with the sun beginning to sink in the sky and the thought of Grey Wind’s ghost still fresh in my mind.

A gentle knock taps on my door.

A flash of annoyance stirs on my features as I imagine a worried Stalia on the other end. I reluctantly open the door only to freeze in shock.

Sansa Stark stands timidly outside, hands clasped in front of her. The grief is still so fresh in her eyes it’s almost unbearable to look upon. I can’t help but question if a similar grief rests on my own face, but quickly brush the thought aside. Sansa has lost her brother and her mother. Not to mention a sister-in-law and niece or nephew that she never got the chance to meet.

At first glance, you might say that she doesn’t look much like her siblings. But I can see the tautness around her eyes and the gentle curve of her nose and mouth. It reminds me very much of the deceased King in the North.

I clear my throat, nodding to her in a way that I hope she deems as respect.

“Lady Sansa,” I say. “I’ve been wanting a chance to offer my sincere condolences. Though, I suppose they don’t mean much. Forgive me, how can I assist you this evening?”

Sansa finally meets my eyes, her gaze hesitant. She straightens up a little, perhaps reading that I have no ill intent for her.

“I heard you,” she says. “And the guards… I heard them… I wanted to… are you alright?”

I follow her eyes to my now purple wrist. I move to stretch my sleeve over it but it doesn’t do much good.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” I say kindly. “My nephew isn’t the forgiving kind. Especially when his pride is threatened. I’d like to apologize on his behalf for the ill actions he’s taken against you and your family. I know it isn’t much.”

She nods a little. I’m about to bid her good night when she speaks again.

“Lord Tyrion says you’re the best of the Lannisters.”

I grimace. “That isn’t saying much, is it?”

I’m shocked that she actually cracks a hint of a smile at my response.

“You were once known as Lady Lysandra the Gentle, were you not?”

“I was, indeed. A lot has changed.”

Sansa pauses.

“Were you there?”

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“The night they killed my family,” she says, her voice steady.

There it is again. The faint sound of the violins melded with other instruments in a wordless tune of father’s song. It’s playing faintly in my ears at the mere mention of the Red Wedding. I keep my face contained.

“No,” I say. “Lord Tywin pulled me days before. I didn’t know what was being planned.”

My eyes find the ground behind her, lost in my own regrets and sorrows. I can’t even imagine the pain she’s enduring. Must be one hundred times my own.

“You have no reason to believe me,” I say softly. “But had I known, I wouldn’t have left. I would have…”

I can’t find the words to finish. The look on Sansa’s face almost shows a sense of understanding. I steady my gaze on her.

“I’m sorry for your suffering,” I say as earnestly as I can. “Truly.”

She nods curtly. “Thank you, Lady Lysandra.”

“If I had more information, I would give it to you,” I say. “At the moment, all I can inquire is the involvement of my father, the Boltons, and the Freys. The North won’t forget their heinous deeds. I trust you know that far more than I. May justice come swiftly.”

Sansa blinks slowly, drinking in my words.

“You’d wish death on your own father?” she asks.

I raise my chin, unsure of my own answer. The music seems to grow louder by each passing second.

“My father…” I trail off. “He’s done unspeakable things but this… this not even I can find forgiveness for. War or not. I knew your brother for a brief time. He was a good man and did not deserve what happened. Nor the rest of your family.”

“Wait,” she says. “you knew Robb?”

“I was his prisoner for a time,” I admit. “it was only natural. All he could think of was getting justice for your father and securing you and your sister’s safety. I’ve never been quite welcome in my family. It took a while for your brother to see that I… well, that I wasn’t against his cause. He was a good man.”

“He let you go?” Sansa asks, almost bewildered.

I nod. “I was surprised as well. If you wish to learn more details, I will gladly tell you anything you wish to know. I have no reason to lie, but I understand that my name does not make me trustworthy. Still, if you wish to know I can tell you in a more private setting tomorrow afternoon. I’m a bit tired from my… activity earlier.”

“I would,” she says. She turns to leave but then adds, “Lord Tyrion has been very kind to me.”

I smile. “I’m glad to hear it. If that changes, feel free to let me know. I’ve missed hiding his wine from him.” She doesn’t smile, but nods. “I’ll send for you tomorrow, Lady Sansa. I’ll pray for a pleasant rest for you. And please, thank my brother for the books he sent.”

“I will. Good night, Lady Lysandra.”

I wait for her footsteps to fade entirely before venturing off in the other direction. I can barely hear the music any longer, but I’m determined to discover the source. I nearly fall over at the sight of a tuft of white and dark grey fur disappearing around the farthest corner. I close my eyes for a moment and count to ten. I have to be hallucinating again. Regardless, I need to figure out what’s happening to me. For now, I’ll follow the ghost wolf.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes. The music is even fainter now and I fear that I’ve lost my trail entirely. I round the same corner where I see the mirage and stop in my tracks.

There rests the direwolf, standing tall and proud. The prominent scarring around his neck is enough to jar me from all reality. I shake my head.

“You’re not real,” I say. “You can’t be.”

In response, Grey Wind takes a step closer to me. Then he lowers his head all the way to the ground, whining softly. He waits patiently as I anticipate my next move. I look around but there’s no one in sight. I take a hesitant step forward, never wavering from Grey Wind’s stare. I kneel down just within reach and raise a shaking hand. I pause near his head, then lower my touch to his fur.

I gasp loudly at the sensation of soft, yet course fur beneath my fingertips. Grey Wind scoots closer to me, nuzzling his face into my leg. I touch the other side of his head with my free hand, bewildered at this lifelike mirage. He’s here, in the castle. Robb Stark’s dead direwolf. It’s not possible, but how am I feeling this? Have I gone mad entirely now? Should I chain myself to the bed and scream for a Maester? Or perhaps I should throw myself from the window of my chambers and save everyone the trouble.

I take Grey Wind’s face in my hands, looking deep into his eyes.

“How?” I ask. “I don’t understand, boy. Have you come for Sansa?”

He lets out a tired huff. The music swells like it did once before and suddenly I can see that fateful night through the wolf’s eyes. Him pleading wordlessly for Robb not to enter the Twins with his family and soldiers. Robb forcing him aside even after Grey Wind put himself between him and shadowed building. _It’s not safe_ , he had wanted to say. Grey Wind could feel the danger far before his master did. He had tried in vain to escape when he heard the tortured cries of his master and the Stark family. Then, he too was butchered in an abominable way.

I’m jolted back to reality, fresh tears wetting my cheeks. I touch my forehead to his.

“I’m so sorry, Grey Wind.”

A long whine escapes him as he further collapses into me. I hold him there until the music fades out entirely.

“Lysandra?”

I’m ripped from my daze. That voice. I know that voice.

The scene changes before me as I look up into Robb Stark’s piercing blue eyes. I’m no longer in the Red Keep, I’m in a tent tucked away on the outskirts of a battlefield. This is no longer a hallucination. It’s a memory.

I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes as I did that day. The day I was crying about so many things. Family, abandonment, Robb’s infatuation with Talisa.

Robb looks at me with concern. Grey Wind leaves my hold to stand beside his King. Robb takes a step forward.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

I stand up, dusting off my peasant-like dress.

“Don’t pretend as if you care,” I say, turning away from him as I wipe the rest of the tears away.

“You know that I do,” he says, wounded. Then he straightens up, clearing his throat. “I thought it best for you to hear it from me. You’re brother, Jaime, has escaped my hold.”

I turn to him in disbelief. “How is that possible?”

Robb clenches his jaw in response. “My mother believed it to be the only solution in order to get my sisters back.”

“Ah,” I say, wringing my hands absentmindedly. “I suppose Lord Karstark in particular isn’t very thrilled with that revelation.”

He studies me closely. “He wants me to kill you. Or rather, carry out the action himself.”

“Oh?”

I force myself to keep eye contact with him.

“In fact, a lot of the men want me to,” he says, moving closer.

I hold my ground.

“It only makes sense, considering.” I brush my hair to the side. “I am a Lannister after all. Quite an inconvenience, if you ask me.”

Robb smiles a little, but he’s not amused. I cross my arms in front of my chest.

“You’re a lot more like your brother than you realize,” he says.

“I suppose.” I grimace. “Well, if my execution is near I suggest you do it quickly. I’m sure your men won’t wait much longer.”

He gives me a look to suggest that I’m perhaps the stupidest person he’s ever met.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says.

“Grown too fond of me have you?”

“Something like that.” He lifts up the flap of the tent, motioning for me to follow. “Walk with me, please.”

I bow low, shooting him a smirk. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Suddenly, I feel strong hands pull me back in a hastened jerk. I blink several times as the scene fades away, leaving me standing near the edge of a balcony overlooking King’s Landing. I shiver from the rain, nearly soaked to the bone. How long have I been out here? How long has it been raining? Then I realize someone’s yelling at me.

Jaime turns me to face him, wild anger in his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouts over the thunder.

He shakes me when I don’t respond. All I can do is shake my head, staring at the edge of the balcony that I almost stepped off from. He lifts my face back to his.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he demands. “Is your life so terrible?”

I cry out when he grabs my injured wrist. He quickly releases his grip, gently examining the injury instead. His jaw clenches at my swollen wrist. It’s as if he’s noticing the cut on my face for the first time. He takes my arm, a more gentle action this time, and leads me back inside.

“What. Happened.” His tone is slow and deadly.

“I-” I can’t seem to find my voice.

He brings me past the staircase to my chambers and leads me into the now empty kitchens. Sitting me down in front of the fire, he rummages through the cupboards. After a few minutes, he sets down a few lemon cakes, some bread, and hot water. I bring the steaming cup tentatively to my lips, sipping the hot liquid. I close my eyes at the warmth.

Jaime drapes a cape over my shoulders, rubbing my arms before sitting across from me near the fire. He rubs his hands together, his eyes never leaving my face.

“What happened?” he asks with a sigh. The look he’s giving tells me he won’t let this go easily, if at all.

“Where to begin?” I tease. He’s not amused.

“Start with the bruises you’re trying to hide.”

“You know how clumsy I am,” I say, staring into the fire. I don’t even believe me. My mind can’t waver from the touch of Grey Wind or seeing Robb Stark almost in the flesh.

“Try again,” he says, crossing his arms. “The truth this time.”

“I _believe_ I may have pissed off my nephew.”

“The guards?”

“Yes.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know. I would’ve-”

“It’s alright,” I say. “I’m sure our sister kept you rather occupied.”

The look of realization on his face tells me that I’m right. Of course. I’m sure Cersei kept him far away from the guards sent to beat me. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the obvious.

“Besides,” I continue. “My wrist is the only casualty. Should be just fine in a few days.”

Jaime narrows his eyes. “Why must you write everything off? I suppose I should ignore the fact that you tried to kill yourself as well.”

“I did not-”

“Then what was it?” he demands. “How would you like me to take that?”

A loud fumbling causes us to look towards the doorway.

“You sent for me?” Tyrion pops his head in before entering. “Thank the gods it’s you. I assumed it was Cersei trying to lure me into a trap. Most likely to torture me and throw my body into the bay.” He pauses, reading the tension in the room and the state of our clothing. “What is it?”

“Our sister,” Jaime shoots me a look before looking at Tyrion. “Tried to throw herself from the castle walls.”

Tyrion’s attention snaps towards me in alarm. “You tried to kill yourself?”

“I did _not_ try to kill myself,” I snap. “Have I considered it? Certainly. But I would never. It’s much too messy.”

“I agree,” Tyrion says. “Then what caused you to venture off to your almost death?”

“I…” I trail off, looking between my brothers’ concerned faces. Finally, I sigh in defeat. “Another episode, I suppose.”

They exchange a worried glance.

“Yes!” I say in exasperation. “I’m going mad. I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Memories, images, I don’t know. But this time it was like I was somewhere else. I could feel everything, smell everything…” I bury my head in my hands. “I know how it sounds. Send for the Maester and lock me up if you must. Your sister has finally cracked.”

I hear the clinking of glasses and the pouring of liquid. Tyrion sits between the two of us and I can see a glass be offered to me. I lift my head up, rolling my eyes at the sight of the freshly poured blackberry wine. I take the glass and he offers Jaime one as well before pouring his own.

“So this is the second time this has happened,” Tyrion says. “Or have you attempted suicide already?”

“I did not-” I pause at the slight grin on his face. I give him a look. “Yes, it is the second time. And I fear they’re only going to get worse from here.”

Jaime runs a hand along his face, studying me carefully.

“If we tell the Maester,” he says. “they’ll lock you up. The Sept would love to have a Lannister contained.”

“Perhaps they should,” I say.

“Don’t be daft,” Tyrion says, gulping his wine. “No one is taking you anywhere. No, we figure this out together.”

I eye Jaime. “If Cersei finds out-”

“I’m not going to tell Cersei anything,” he snaps.

Tyrion ponders his next words.

“Do you think they’re visions?” he asks.

Jaime and I look at him.

“What?” he says. “It’s not the strangest thing to occur.”

“Out of nowhere,” I say in disbelief.

“Would you rather be mad?”

“I don’t think it’s much worse!”

“Visions,” Jaime shakes his head. “There must be another explanation.”

“There is,” I say. “I’ve lost my mind.”

“What else happens?” Tyrion asks, thoroughly intrigued.

I hesitate. “I hear the Rains of Castamere playing in an orchestral manner. It comes and goes when it wants.”

“Fascinating,” Tyrion whispers, taking another drink.

“ _Not_ fascinating,” Jaime snaps. “Our sister could be ill. She would’ve nearly lost her life if I hadn’t seen her venture outside.”

Tyrion studies me. “What happened to your face? And your wrist for that matter.”

I sighed in frustration. “Joffrey had his guards attack me because I hurt his pride. What else is new?”

“Are you alright?” he asks. The seriousness in his voice makes my tone soften.

“Yes,” I say. “I’m fine. Physically.”

Jaime sighs. “It doesn’t change the fact that you almost died because of your actions. I’m going to have to insist that you have guards around you at all times.”

“Are you mad?” I say, gesturing to my wrist.

He holds a hand up. “I will have my most trusted men.”

“I do not need to be corralled like an animal,” I snap.

“Then what would you suggest? I will not risk your life. No matter how much you hate me for it.”

“Perhaps I can watch over her, brother,” Tyrion suggests.

“At all manners of the day?” Jaime asks doubtfully.

“Then you?” Tyrion asks.

“No,” I say firmly. “And Cersei wouldn’t allow it anyway. Not for long.”

“Then we take shifts looking out for you until we figure something out,” Tyrion says. “Bronn and Podrick will assist.”

“Lovely,” I say. “Just what I need. More time with Bronn.”

Jaime cracks a smile.

I bite my lip, choosing my next words carefully. I look to Jaime.

“Thank you, brother,” I say. “You know, for not allowing me to die.”

“Let’s make that the last time.”

“I promise I will try.” I grin.

Tyrion smiles at us. Then he points to the food in front of me.

“Eat,” he says. “Then I’ll pour you more wine, mad sister.”


	6. Family Matters

_*this chapter includes Lysandra’s POV as well as 3 rd person encounters regarding the actions of other characters*_

**_Lysandra_ **

****

“So, my brother threatened to kill you…” Sansa says.

I smile. “He did.”

“And that… brings you joy?” she says in disbelief.

“He was fierce, your brother,” I clarify. “For a moment, I actually thought he meant to end my life. Strangely, I admired him for it. But he was too honorable of a man to harm a woman.” I paused, then added “Even a Lannister woman.”

Sansa smiles a little. It fades as her eyes drop to her lemon cakes.

“And my mother? I reckon she didn’t appreciate your presence at camp.”

“Gods, no.” I wave my hand, drinking a sip of wine. “She loathed the sight of me. And rightfully so. After the fate of your father, I feared she’d slip into my tent while I was sleeping and end me right there.”

“Why do you think she didn’t?”

I hesitate. “Your brother found me more valuable alive.”

“And he grew fond of you.”

“Amicably,” I say, though that wasn’t entirely true. “He saw how lost I was after being sold. Although I hated his pity, I believe it’s the only reason why I’m sitting here with you today.”

In the end, I hope that pity wasn’t the only thing that fueled his softness towards me. In fact, I know it wasn’t. But a part of me will always wonder if he grew to care for me in the way I did for him. Though I denied it every chance I got. But Sansa will never understand. I don’t think anyone ever will. Not even myself.

Sansa clasps her hands together, a look of stoic confidence on her face as she straightens her posture. She looks me in the eye, careful not to let emotions betray her face.

“What is… what was your favorite thing about him?”

She studies me carefully as I try to pick just one thing I loved about the Young Wolf. She must see something on my face that surprises her, because her face softens slightly. I think back to my time with Robb.

“His determination was enough to make anyone follow him,” I say softly. “But his kindness was what drew me to him. Despite our differences and the hatred between our families, he eventually made me feel like I wasn’t alone. He was the only one who treated me like an individual… and not a piece of property or some kind of bargaining piece. He’ll always have my gratitude.”

The two of us are silent after that for a long while. We drink seemingly slow and Sansa manages to pick at a few of the food options in front of us. Probably not to seem rude in the presence of a Lannister. I don’t feel like eating much myself, but I know I’ll need all the strength I can get for what’s to come. I can feel a storm nearing. Of what it contains, I do not know. But it won’t be pleasant and it’s coming for all of us. I need to be ready for whatever these visions mean. Whether they’re warnings or simply signs of madness.

My thoughts drift to Bronn waiting a few feet beyond the entrance. He’s tasked with watching me today. It turns out Tyrion and Jaime are more fond of their sister than I believed. They’re not ready for me to fling myself from the tower just yet. It’s strange that the thought comforts me. Perhaps I’m not as alone as I feel. Still, something tells me it won’t last long. Lannisters tend to pay their debts eventually, and with recent events I fear we’ve borrowed far too much in this wicked life we’ve shared.

***

**_Tower of the Hand_ **

**_King’s Landing_ **

****

Tywin, Tyrion, Jaime, Cersei, and Grand Maester Pycelle gather around the table. None look quite thrilled to be there, but they remain silent as they wait for Tywin to begin the meeting. Tyrion makes sure to sit as far away from his father as possible. His mind wanders to Lysandra, but he waves the thought from his mind. He knows she’s safe with Sansa and Bronn and he needs to keep his wits sharp for whatever his father has planned. It’s odd that Tywin specifically summoned Jaime for this meeting and he has a feeling that whatever information is shared will be the kind he is not fond of.

“The Boltons have been of great help to us during this petulant child’s war,” Lord Tywin says. “I feel that is only right to reward them for their service.”

“The Boltons have the North,” Tyrion grumbles, not attempting in the slightest to hide his disgust. “Thanks to you. Have you forgotten? The Freys are taken care of as well. I’m sure they’re doing just fine.”

“A stronger alliance with the Boltons could build a more sustainable bridge for the kingdoms in the future, my Lord,” Grand Maester Pycelle adds. 

Tywin nods but doesn’t address the old man, keeping his focus on his children.

“Yes,” he grunts. “The more the Boltons rise in the North, the more they’ll expect. I have a solution that can cement the alliance with the Boltons and the Lannisters. One that will make sure no conflicts arise in the future.”

It takes seconds for realization to come across Tyrion. He grips the end of the table like a vice, praying to whatever gods may exist that what he expects is not the truth. Jaime takes in his brother’s subtle shift and his eyebrows furrow. What is he missing?

“Please tell me whatever you’re suggesting is money or land or something without a pulse,” Tyrion says. His words are fierce, but the break in his voice betrays him.

Tywin is silent, his eyes remaining on his dwarf son. Jaime closes his eyes as a look of dread crosses his face. Tyrion presses his palms into his eyes before groaning in disbelief. Cersei looks between the men in her family, clearly confused of the unvoiced decision hanging in the air.

“Roose’s bastard son flays people for sport!” Tyrion exclaims. “Surely you’ve heard the stories. Have you completely lost your mind?”

“Watch how you speak to me, Tyrion.”

“Father,” Jaime pleads. “She’s barely been here two weeks. Surely you can’t mean to-”

“Lysandra will be married to Roose Bolton,” Tywin says. He looks to Tyrion. “Not the bastard. That would only bring shame. When she produces a child-”

“She will _die_ ,” Tyrion says slowly. “before she allows herself to be sold again. To the Boltons, no less.”

“Then we will bind her in chains and drag her if we must,” Tywin says coldly, raising his voice with control. “She is my daughter and she will do what is best for the family.”

“Must we _all_ suffer into loveless marriages?” Cersei rolls her eyes. “It’s almost too predictable.”

“Don’t act as if you care for our sister,” Tyrion snaps. She raises her eyebrows.

“Oh, I don’t,” she says. “I’m merely stating a common fact. Though, Roose is rather dull. I do pity her.”

“Enough,” Tywin says. He stands. “Lysandra will be informed tomorrow and a meeting will be set as soon as possible. Until then, I expect you all to keep this to yourselves. The less Lysandra knows until it’s time, the better.”

Tyrion stands as well. “I will not allow this to happen again.”

“Know your place,” Tywin snarls.

He shakes his head. “No. I stood behind the decision to sell Lysandra to the Freys and it was a mistake. I pride myself on not making the same mistakes twice, thank you. My sister, your _daughter_ , is not property to be handed about whenever there is a war to win.”

“She’ll take her life,” Jaime says. “You know she will. I hardly recognize her anymore. This will kill her, father. I implore you to reconsider this.”

Surprisingly, Tywin hesitates as he sees the pleading and determination in both of his sons’ eyes. Even Cersei looks wary, though she remains silent. Tywin pushes in his chair.

“The decision has been made.”

Without another word, he leaves the stunned room.

***

**_Lysandra_ **

****

“Lysandra!” Jaime calls after me. “Lysandra, wait!”

“I knew better than to trust you two,” I snap, pushing open the double doors.

“Sister,” Tyrion pleads. “We only just found out. We’re not going to let this happen. Will you _please_ slow down. I’m still a dwarf, you know.”

I don’t slow my pace as I make my way to father’s chambers. When we enter the hallway, Jaime roughly pulls me out of view from prying eyes. I wrench out of his grip, glaring at my brothers.

“He will _not_ do this to me,” I say. “I made a vow to never let anyone hurt me again. I will kill that traitor before wedding him.”

“Then you’d be marrying a corpse,” Tyrion quips. His smirk quickly fades when me and Jaime shoot him a murderous look. He sighs. “We will protect you.”

“Like you protected me before?” I attempt to hide the ice in my voice but fail.

A look of hurt flashes in his eyes but he quickly recovers.

“That was different and you know it,” he says. He looks to Jaime. “Father favors you. Do you think if you talk to him alone-”

“I can try,” Jaime says. “But you saw him back there. His mind is made up.” He looks to me. “But I _will_ try. Maybe I can offer him something. He’s always wanted me to return to Casterly Rock-”

“As good of a sentiment as that sounds,” I cut him off. “You’d be miserable. And father would win anyway, just with another child’s misery. No. We’re not making any offers. I have one last card to play.”

Tyrion narrows his eyes. “Why do I feel like we won’t like where you’re going with this?”

“You won’t. At all, actually.”

“What are you going to do?” Jaime says, eyeing me suspiciously.

I straighten my posture. “I’m going to threaten him.”

“How?” Jaime asks.

“With what?” Tyrion asks.

“Something that would bring shame to the family, should it ever surface to the people.”

The color drains from Jaime’s face.

“You don’t mean…” he trails off.

I shake my head. “Nothing concerning you, brother. I’m thinking… more of a devious lie.”

“Aren’t all lies devious?” Tyrion points out. I notice the twinkle in his eye.

“Maybe,” I say. “But this one will top them all. And the less you know the better.”

***

Father looked less than pleased when I showed up at his chamber door. He quickly ushered us into the quarters where the meetings are held. Despite my instinct to stand, I sat when he offered me the seat beside him. Now, we look at each other with a level of intensity even I am not comfortable with. Fighting with father has never been pleasant, though I rather enjoy infuriating him.

“I assume you know of my plans for you,” Tywin says. “The look in your eye tells me you’re prepared for battle.”

I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my anger and anxiety in one simple breath. I fold my hands together and place them onto the table with slow precision. My next moves must be as calculated as possible. I would sooner fall on my own sword than marry the man who buried a blade in Robb Stark.

“I will not be married off to the Boltons,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “They’re as traitorous and dishonorable as they come. I would try to appeal to the side of you that cares for me, but I fear that that side no longer exists.”

Tywin studies me. “The decision has been made. You are my daughter, and because of this, you will do your best to provide our family with the best possible outcome.”

“You don’t owe the Boltons anything,” I reason. “You’ve already given them the North. You ended Robb Stark. The army is practically nonexistent. The Boltons don’t have the numbers to overtake you. No, you’re doing this because you want to. You’re afraid I’ll cause trouble for you. As if my existence is a nuisance. Do you not remember how absent you were when your children were growing up? Do you remember how I loved you anyway? That even at a young age I understood your duty to the crown? And now you just toss me away whenever you see fit. Do you not see how cruel this is?”

He doesn’t reply. I can see the hesitation, the confliction in his eyes. It must be strange to him. Being so cruel and hard all the time has to make you fear any other emotion. What a strange man my father has become since I was a little girl. The man who used to hold my hand when I got hurt before scolding me to become stronger. I adored that man. Mother’s death affected him more and more over the years. Now, he’s become this tyrant I barely recognize.

“Listen carefully, father,” I say, my patience waring. “If you go through with this, I will tell the entire kingdom I’m pregnant with Tyrion’s child. Do you understand? There will not be a person in King’s Landing that hasn’t heard the rumor. It will tarnish the Lannister name in every way and I will not have one shred of regret. I loved you once, but I am not your pawn. I will not be treated as such.”

Tywin’s jaw clenches. I prepare myself for the backlash. The threats of endless misery. Instead, he shakes his head. His eyes soften when he looks at me.

“You remind me of your mother,” Tywin says. “Resilient. I’ve always admired your strength. Your siblings share that trait as well, but you… You’ve always been ready for a fight. Always ready to protect your loved ones. Despite what you may believe, I’ve always cared deeply for you.” He crosses his arms. “I was the one who begged your mother not to take that vial when she found herself pregnant with you. She tried to keep it a secret but it was not difficult to assume. She told me she was not ready for another after having twins, but I insisted, for I wished for another son.”

It’s only when my hands start to ache that I realize how hard I’m gripping my chair. My knuckles are ghostly white. I can hear the thudding of my heart in my ears.

“She told me she’d throw the elixir in the river,” he continues, unfazed by my reaction. “But I found the vial empty when I returned to our chambers. It was the first time I remember ever striking her. We thought you lost forever. A few days later, it was revealed to us that you still lived within your mother.”

A silence hangs in the air.

“She didn’t want me.” My voice comes out in a whisper. He has to be lying. Surely mother wouldn’t-

“No,” Tywin says, studying me carefully. “I watched her closely after that. I didn’t want there to be another attempt on your life. But once you were brought into this world, your mother loved you more fiercely than you will ever know.”

I shake my head. “You’re a liar.”

He sighs, a sense of victory in his eyes. “Not with this, Lysandra. You see, I’ve always known you’d be the strongest Lannister. Surviving certain death without breathing a hint of fresh air… it was unheard of. Sending you away has only made you better in every way a Lannister needs to be. Hard, distant, fierce. I’ve snuffed the weakness out that was once called your golden heart. And that’s why you will marry Roose Bolton. You will bare him children if you choose. And when the opportunity arises, you will destroy him and his line from the inside. One day, the North will belong to us as well. I’m certain you’ll make sure of that.”

With shaking hands, I push myself from the table and stand. It’s too much. All of this… I can’t.

That’s when I hear it, the music. Loud and deafening in my ears. It’s pushing me from the room before I even realize my feet are moving. It has something it wants to show me. Something far away from here. What, I do not know.

I can barely hear my father calling my name as I run from the tower. 


	7. Fallen Kings

I barely feel the pain in my wrist when I collide against the walls of the Red Keep. I have to make the music stop. It played the night the Starks were slaughtered, I know it. I don’t know how, but I do. As I stumble to wherever it’s leading me, flashes of that night appear before my eyes. Catelyn Stark’s knowing face when she heard the tune of my father’s song at the celebration. The armor revealed under Roose Bolton’s sleeves. The look of horror on the faces of others as Talisa was stabbed repeatedly in the stomach.

I close my eyes but the scene won’t go away. The blood flowing throughout the room acts as if a sinister work of art. Robb mourns his late wife, completely in a state of shock as Catelyn wails for him to leave. She begs Walder to let him go. Walder refuses snidely, making my hate for the man all the more present in my bones. I long to rip his throat from his body. The way he and his sons treated me was vile. It took months for me to be able to scare them more than they scared me.

Robb looks to his mother, calling out to her before Roose steps up to him.

“The Lannisters send their regards,” he hisses before plunging the blade into him.

I scream but nothing comes out. I reach into the abyss but touch nothing. I want to strangle Roose until his veins explode and his eyes turn red. How dare he use a name that belongs to me. I pray to the gods that Robb didn’t see my face in the list of names that must have flashed before his eyes. At least, not in malice. I had nothing to do with his downfall. I would have died willingly before I participated even remotely. But he had no way of knowing. For all he knew, my kindness towards him was all a lie.

The Rains of Castamere plays even louder in my ears. I cover them with no change. Then there’s a flash of Robb’s corpse tied to a horse with Grey Wind’s head sewed on. The unsettling cheers and disgusting words coming from foul men’s mouths fill the humid air. My vision blurs as the scene of the Red Wedding fades and the long halls of the Red Keep seep in. Just when I believe I’ll collapse, I see him. Standing at the end of the hallway, wearing all black and a lost expression, is the late King in the North.

Robb Stark.

I shake my head and shut my eyes tightly. No. It’s another hallucination. A vision or strange memory of some sort. Robb Stark is dead. He died and-

_The Young Wolf lives._

The voice I haven’t heard since my training session with Bronn echoes like a loud command in my ears. I can’t tell if it’s male or female. It’s as if someone is whispering harshly and yet trying to make their voice louder at the same time.

“The Young Wolf is dead,” I reply aloud, but I can’t hear myself over the music and echoes.

I plead with whatever is going on in my head to stop. I don’t know what it wants. My knees crash onto the ground and I clutch my head in my hands. The blackness behind my eyelids morphs into a scene. It’s as if I can see myself crouching down with my head in my hands. I’m rocking back and forth. Then I see Robb coming down the hallway towards me. There’s a wicked scar running along his exposed neck. Despite that, he looks entirely normal expect for the paleness of his skin. He kneels down and leans close to my ear.

“Come find me.”

His voice cuts through the music and everything is silent. I rip my eyes open, instantly crawling away from where I heard the familiar voice directly in my ear.

I’m alone in the hallway. There is no music, no inhuman whispers, no dead Starks.

My whole body trembles with fear.

I’ve lost my mind.

Suddenly, soft fur brushes against my damp face. I scoot myself away, pushing myself with my hands rapidly. Grey Wind whines softly, lowering himself onto his belly. He stares at me with a flicker of concern. He keeps his distance, not wanting to startle me further. He lowers his head to his paws slowly.

I shake my head. “I can’t do this.”

He huffs, lightly nuzzling my ankle with his cold nose.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I whisper to no one in particular.

This force that is driving me to see these things requires action from me. The problem is, I can’t even fathom what it may be. If my visions speak the truth, Robb Stark is alive. Grey Wind is alive. But it’s not possible. Robb was decapitated. His direwolf’s head sewed onto his corpse, parading around like some grotesque conquest.

“Lysandra?”

A familiar voice rips me from Grey Wind’s gaze. I see Bronn at the end of the hallway, a worried expression on his face. He only pauses momentarily, hand on the hilt of his sword, before rushing to my side. I look at Grey Wind, then back at him. He doesn’t even look in the wolf’s direction.

Because he’s not really there, I remind myself. It’s my illusion, and it’s sticking around this time it seems.

Bronn wipes the now sticky tears and damp hair from my face, bringing my attention back to him.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks, more to himself than to me. He takes my face in his hands gingerly, looking for any kind of injury. “Hells, you’ve gone pale.”

I shake my head. I raise a shaky hand to my forehead before dropping it to my side.

“I’m f-”

“Don’t say you’re fine,” Bronn says, giving me a look.

I look at Grey Wind who rises up to a sitting position. It’s as if he’s waiting for me. His look expectant and patient. Bronn looks in the same direction, then back at me wearily.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“I was with my father,” I say. “And-”

The memory of my father’s words come crashing back like a stone wall against my mind. My mother didn’t want me. Not at first. She tried to terminate the pregnancy and I survived. How disappointed she must have been in that moment. Father could be lying, it wouldn’t be the first time. But somehow I know his story is true. I can feel the truth like a heavy weight in my heart.

“Come on,” Bronn says, helping me slowly to my feet. “Let’s get your ass up.”

He steadies me when I sway slightly.

“I feel so weak,” I say.

Bronn straightens my dress, glancing swiftly towards me with his jaw clenched. It’s not often that I admit weakness in any form. Though his expression is one of anger, one might assume, I know it’s merely worry for my condition. Tyrion filled him in with what little he could tell him. That my health wasn’t in the best shape, but we couldn’t tell a Maester or anyone else. It was the health of the mind, after all, and the public didn’t take too kindly to those who’ve supposedly gone mad.

“Lean against me if you feel the need,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I won’t complain. Any excuse to feel your warmth against me.”

I roll my eyes. “Perhaps in your dreams.”

“No. _Always_ in my dreams, Lady Lysandra.” He smirks down at me.

We walk for a moment in silence towards my chambers. I hear the pitter patter of feet and glance over my shoulder. Grey Wind follows close behind. I turn my eyes forward again, momentarily glancing at Bronn.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

He grunts in response but I can see the small smile he’s fighting to control. He holds me a little tighter when I stumble over the stone floor. I barely make it to my familiar doors when I collapse unconscious into his arms.

***

I wake alone in my room, thick blankets covering me and my thin nightgown. I blink a few times to steady my thoughts. I wince as I prop myself up on my elbows, studying the room. It’s completely dark outside now, a pleasantly cold wind drifting in through the cracks of my windows. A massive body lays at the foot of the bed.

Grey Wind breathes sleepily, his eyes closed with a comforted look on his face. I can’t help but smile despite my alarm. I cautiously lean forward to stroke his fur. It’s so real. As real as it had been the first time he let me pet him. Back when he was alive. He trusted me only slightly before Robb did. It was strange, becoming friendly with a direwolf. I had never seen such a thing before. I had only heard tales of them as a little girl.

The wolf shifts slightly into my touch but doesn’t open his eyes. This time I feel the healed scar that circles his neck, much like the one I imagined I saw on Robb before my collapse. I’ve been thinking of Grey Wind as a ghost, but I’ve never heard a tale of being able to touch one before. A ghost, that is. Still, I can’t help but feel comforted by his presence. It’s as if he’s protecting me. From what, I don’t know. But the thought strikes a chord with me deep down into my soul.

If Grey Wind is here, maybe Robb is somewhere too. Maybe these visions have been trying to tell me this all along. Maybe I’m meant to fix the horrendous actions my namesake has caused the Starks. That fateful night will forever hinder us abominations to those who still have hearts. Perhaps I can amend myself just a little. Perhaps my fate doesn’t have to be sealed by my blood’s actions. Perhaps some form of Robb is trapped somewhere… waiting to be set free.

But that’s impossible. A naïve wish of a lovesick girl with tragic memories.

I mustn’t give in to these delusions. Even still, having Grey Wind here with me again is too wonderful to ignore. If he is some figment of my imagination, that piece of insanity is welcome to stay for as long as it likes. I will not fight it anymore. But that blasted song. I swear I inherit a shred of madness and anger each time it plays inside my head. It had been played at the Red Wedding… and Catelyn Stark knew what it meant for her and her family. I’ll never forget the look on her face. The sight of Talisa and her child being stabbed will haunt my dreams forever. The look in Robb’s eyes before he was killed… like a lost and broken little boy with nothing left to live for.

If there’s even a slight possibility that I’m not mad, that these visions have come to me in order to help me find Robb somewhere in this realm alive… that’s a risk I’m more than willing to take. Grey Wind will help me. There’s no doubt in that aspect. But there’s only so much ghosts and visions and voices can do. I’ll need to escape King’s Landing. Escape, because father will never allow me to leave of my own free will. Nor will the despicable king. They’ll lock me up until they’re ready to ship me off to the Boltons.

No… a distraction is what I need. Something to keep them occupied enough to not worry about the rebellious, expendable Lannister. But I trust next to no one. I know my brothers will want to help, but there’s no guarantee they’ll let me wander off to some strange land where I have no map and no idea of where to travel. It’ll be like the blind leading the blind. Even if they do, I can’t risk them telling anyone else. Not even out of concern for my safety. Especially Tyrion. He’s never been known to keep a secret for very long. There’s Stalia, and even though she’s kind I cannot ask her to potentially risk her life for mine.

An idea snaps into my mind. If I haven’t lost all track of time, Joffrey’s wedding is being held tomorrow. If I can somehow slip away, perhaps I have a chance of leaving the castle, the kingdom, undetected. I can steal peasant clothes if I have to. I’ll strike off my hair, dirty my face, whatever it takes to avoid suspicion through the streets. I could even sneak aboard a ship if it comes to that. Surely I have some authority, enough to demand a safe passage anywhere but King’s Landing. By the time someone runs to tell my family, I’ll be long gone without a trail to follow.

 _The Young Wolf lives._ A voice whispers gently in my mind.

I nod. It’s not possible, but I’m willing to believe.

A light knock sounds on my door, causing Grey Wind to perk up. The door opens slightly revealing Tyrion with Jaime close behind. Tyrion hesitates but I beckon him in.

“Thank you, Bronn,” Tyrion says to a figure outside the door.

“Didn’t do it for you,” Bronn’s voice quips.

My brothers shut the door behind them. A low growl comes from within Grey Wind as he eyes the two Lannisters.

“Easy,” I say quietly enough for only the wolf to hear. He silences immediately. Whether he’s a ghost or not, I’d rather not like to find out what he could do to living men if he saw fit to shred them to pieces. Not to Jaime and Tyrion, anyway.

Tyrion looks at me and sighs deeply.

“Are you alright?”

I think back to my talk with father and immediately regret it. Part of me wonders if anyone else knows the truth. If this is yet another secret my entire family has hidden from me over the years.

“For now,” I answer.

Jaime takes a seat at the table. He looks utterly exhausted. It makes me wonder what other worries are going through that troubled mind of his.

“What happened?” he asks steadily.

“I-” I look between the two of them. I attempt to lie, but think better of it. “My talk with father went worse than I anticipated.” My brothers tense. “I was upset and I started hearing… the music. Again. My head… it was as if it was splitting in two. I wandered off somewhere and then I saw what happened at the Red Wedding. Then…”

I hesitate before continuing, thinking about the sight of Robb and his direwolf.

“Then Bronn found me on the floor.”

“What do you mean you _saw_ the Red Wedding?” Jaime asks, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.

“I don’t know,” I snap, but my voice is still weak and hoarse. “It was like I was watching a horrific play before my eyes and I had no control of it and that is all I wish to speak about the topic.”

We remain in silence for a few long moments. Then Tyrion sits beside me on the bed. He rests his hand on my knee, squeezing comfortingly.

“We’re just glad you’re alright,” he says.

He places his hand back in his lap. He pauses, as if considering his next words.

“What did father say to you?” he asks gently.

I visibly tense and he notices. I’m afraid if I say it aloud I’ll start to cry and I hate the mere thought of the action. Crying has always been a sign of weakness in our family, and I’m anything but.

“He knew I was going to threaten him,” I say. “He was angry, but he had another move to play. He told me something he kept hidden from me my entire life. Something he knew would rattle me… and it worked. I couldn’t stay in that room with him any longer. Let alone continue to threaten to spread a shameful rumor.”

Tyrion and Jaime wait for me to continue, visibly leaning slightly closer to me, but I say no more.

“Whatever he said to upset you,” Jaime says, watching my reaction carefully. “I’m sure it was a lie.”

I blink away tears that threaten to form. “Not this time.”

“It matters not,” Tyrion says. “Don’t let him sway you, sister. You are still one of the more stubborn Lannisters in the family.”

His attempt to cheer me up works a little, but I can’t help but view my entire life differently. How would things be if I were never in existence? Would the family be better? Worse? Would my secret I shared with very few at Casterly Rock all those years ago be better off never existing?

Opening that last wound sends a tear in my soul. I would truly be mad to forget what occurred long before I met Robb Stark. What occurred the first time I was sent away… the only time I _begged_ to be sent away… All because my sister threw me to the monsters more commonly known as men. The nightmares of unknown faces violating me over and over will never leave entirely. And the very thought sends a chilling hatred for Cersei through my veins. A hatred that feels as fresh as the night the horror was inflicted upon me.

I will not be the victim any longer.

***

Joffrey’s wedding is an event that makes me hate the little bastard more than I ever believed possible. I long for the gathering in the courtyard to be over. I purposely avoid father’s watchful eyes. Grey Wind’s presence beside me is unbeknownst to all but me. As I make my way to sit among Sansa and Tyrion, I nearly walk into a very tall and muscular woman. It takes me a slight second to take in her figure and vibrant, short blonde hair. I shake my head in apology.

“Pardon me,” I say. “I’m afraid I have a lot on my mind at the moment.”

“Apologies on my behalf, my Lady,” the woman says. “I should watch where I’m going.”

I finally take in her familiarity and smile.

“You’re Brienne of Tarth,” I say brightly. She almost looks startled for a moment but then collects herself. “My brother speaks highly about you.”

I notice Jaime in the far off crowd as he eyes the two of us. I look back to Brienne who casts her gaze downwards for a moment.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lysandra,” she says with a bow. “Ser Jaime has spoken nothing but wonderful things about you.”

“Has he?” I ask.

“During our journey,” she says. “he mentioned that you were the cleverest Lannister even as small children.” She pauses with a smile. “And the most stubborn.”

I grin. “Well, I won’t dismiss the observation.”

Brienne nods in Jaime’s direction. “It was clear that he missed you dearly. I’m just happy that the two of you were reunited despite other odds.”

I nod, running over the words in my head.

She furrows her eyebrows. “You seem surprised.”

“No,” I say. “Not surprised, just… well, yes. Surprised would be the appropriate word. Jaime and I have had… issues over the past few years or so.”

The look in her eyes shows me that she knows of some of these issues. From my understanding, Jaime and her bonded quite a bit towards the end of their journey. Many details were exposed during Jaime and I’s conversation in the library a short time ago. I couldn’t help but see the look in Jaime’s eyes as he described Brienne and all of her traits and mannerisms. It was almost as if, just maybe, he felt something for her. And it was clear that Brienne thought very highly of “Ser Jaime.”

I smile politely. “Well, I must be getting to my seat. But it was a pleasure to meet you, Brienne. I do hope I see you again.” I pause next to her. “And, just between you and I, I also prefer armor to gowns.”

I pat her arm gently and she smiles knowingly.

I smirk at Jaime when I get closer to him. His eyes narrow.

“I see you’ve met Brienne,” he says.

“Lovely woman,” I reply. He gives me a look. “Truly! I like her demeanor. It’s rather refreshing. I can see why you’ve taken to her.”

“That’s not-,” he stutters. “I haven’t-”

“Keep your secrets, brother,” I tease. “They’re none of my business.”

I pause, then gently reach up and kiss his cheek. The act is a welcome surprise on his behalf. He looks at me fondly. The way he used to look at me when I bested him in combat when we were younger. Back when things tended to be more simple.

I make my way to the table and sit beside Tyrion, ignoring Cersei’s icy gaze. I’m surprised to receive an almost imperceptible genuine smile from Sansa. It’s strange to think we are now sisters by marriage.

Finding an opportunity to slip away would prove to be more difficult as the rest of the events unfolded.

Joffrey, poisoned.

Tyrion, imprisoned.

Sansa’s disappearance.

And me, who never could leave family when they needed her most.

I could have slipped away during the commotion. I could’ve boarded a boat or stolen a horse. But Tyrion was going to be punished for a crime I knew he didn’t commit.

And I would never abandon my brother.


	8. Broken Vows

“Keep up your pacing and there’s going to be a hole in the floor,” Bronn says.

“Maybe I can bury myself in it,” I snap, waving him off.

He rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. We lapse into the usual silence that’s been plaguing us the past few days. Finally, I drop to the floor and bury my head in my hands, brushing my fingers roughly through my hair. I don’t care that my gold embroidered lavender dress is getting soiled by the dirt below. I don’t care that I haven’t bathed or slept in days. I don’t care that I’ve practically alienated Stalia with my sharp tongue and harsh words. I almost don’t care that I haven’t received any other visions or that an invisible Grey Wind still hasn’t left my side. I’m only just barely able to push the looming thought of Robb Stark’s survival to the back of my troubled mind.

A trial by combat. Tomorrow. A fucking trial by combat to decide if Tyrion is guilty. He just had to open his mouth instead of letting Jaime and I take care of the situation. Cersei may believe his guilt, or maybe she chooses to, but I know father is well aware that Tyrion would never murder Joffrey. And if he had, it would not have been poisoning in front of such an immense audience. Tyrion is smarter than that. The unfairness shoots me with such hatred I can’t bare it.

“Oberyn Martell is a strong and clever fighter,” I admit. “But he’s arrogant and seeking vengeance. It’ll force him to meet his end if he isn’t careful, and he’s never careful. His life will end and so will Tyrion’s.”

“You’re probably right,” Bronn grunts, leaning into the wall behind him.

I shoot him a glare.

“What? I can’t take the fuck down,” he says. “The Mountain is an ugly beast and I’m not going into a fight I can’t win. I’m rather fond of myself and don’t want to die.”

I shake my head. “He should’ve let me fight.”

Bronn bursts out laughing. “You’re good, love, but you’re not _that_ good. That thing would tear you apart limb from limb.”

“I’m small, agile, and fast,” I argue. “Mock all you want, but I’m not afraid. I would die for my brother.”

He wipes the drool from his mouth and chuckles once more to himself. Then he looks me in the eye and all form of teasing is vanished from his eyes.

“I know you would,” he says. “But there’s nothing you can do. You’re just going to have to wait like every other fuck in this city.”

“I need to see him.”

“They won’t let you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Most of my life has been spent in this castle. I know every nook and secret passage. They will not keep me from seeing Tyrion when he could die in a matter of days.”

Bronn raises his hands. “Do what you want, I’m not your keeper. But your brothers did hire me to keep an eye on you. If you’re sneaking around the Red Keep, so am I.”

I stand up and brush myself off. I smooth back the dirty blonde hair that no longer shines with the familiar glow as it once did. I force it into a sloppy braid down my back and secure it with a fine strip of gold cloth. Grey Wind stands at attention, awaiting whatever command I give him; but I have nothing to say, for I know not what I’m supposed to do in any aspect. I look to Grey Wind and then Bronn.

“You may follow me,” I say. “If you can keep up, that is.”

***

Bronn manages to distract the guards long enough for me to slip in to see Tyrion with Grey Wind close on my heels. He growls instinctively at the surprised dwarf, but then sits quietly in the shadows. For a moment, I think Tyrion is startled by Grey Wind and I feel a flicker of hope that I’m not going mad after all, but I realize he’s looking directly at me and not the dead wolf.

“Lysandra,” he says breathlessly. “What are you doing here?”

He looks terrible. Dirty, famished, sleep-deprived, everything awful and miserable. He pushes back his greasy hair and sighs in defeat as I sit across from him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“Neither should you.”

He gives me that tired look. The kind of look he occasionally gives when he’s given up, when he has no witty remark left to speak.

It’s a defeated look, and it terrifies me.

“Oberyn could succeed,” I offer, but I fail to sound convincing.

Tyrion flashes a wry smile, looking off to the dark corners of his cell.

“You’ve always been a good liar,” he says. “Though you must be slacking because that was less than convincing.”

“Perhaps you just know me too well.”

He snorts. “Ah, yes. A kinder thought.”

I hesitate. “If Oberyn fails…”

“Have you come to say your goodbyes?” He looks at me with a humorous expression but I can see the sorrow hiding in his eyes.

“No.” I swallow. “If Oberyn should fail, I need you to know that I’m not giving up. You’re not going to die. That is my vow to you.”

At this, a small hint of a smile etches his lips. It’s as if he’s seeing me clearly for the first time. The strength of my voice, of my words, makes him proud. At this moment I find myself wishing we had more time to be siblings. More time to mend our broken past and plan for a more promising future. Scheme together to take down our enemies and make sure no one ever separates us again. But I know it’s a child’s dream and I only allow myself a moment of hope and fantasy before I push the thought aside like all the rest.

The two of us sit in silence for a while. I wish I had more to say. I wish I had a plan instead of empty promises. I wish I had some comforting words or even a humorous story to share. But in a way, I think this means more to both of us than any words I wish to say.

I finally get up to leave, sharing a grave look with my brother.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” It’s all I can think to say.

His eyes remain on the floor for a bit and just as I’m about to leave him he speaks.

“If this is the last time we should speak,” he says. “There’s something I’d like to know.”

I turn to him, waiting patiently as he mulls over his thoughts. Though, I already know what he’ll ask.

“What was it father said that troubled you so?” he asks, finally meeting my eyes with an intense curiosity.

I close my eyes and take a breath to steady myself. When I open them, his eyes seems softer than before.

“Our mother never wanted me,” I say, my voice escaping in barely a whisper. “She attempted to rid herself of me before my birth… but somehow the elixir failed and hear I am. So that’s the end of that.”

Now I feel as if I’m bursting to leave the room but I remain rooted to the spot. I have to know if Tyrion knew. If anyone but father and mother knew. I’m not sure why, but I need to know.

The look on Tyrion’s face proves that whatever he expected me to say, it wasn’t this. He looks slightly deflated and hesitant to respond in any form. Suddenly, as if a mask forms to his features, he looks at me with such a fierceness it almost startles me.

“Lysandra, mother loved you.” He shakes his head. “Nothing will ever change that. You know that.”

His words move me in a way I don’t expect. I know that he’s right. And even so, Tyrion has been blamed for mother’s death his entire life. I suddenly feel ashamed for ever feeling sorrowful in the first place.

I nod once and place my hand on the handle.

“Lysandra.”

I look to him one last time.

“Despite what happens tomorrow…” he trails off for a moment. “Thank you.”

I don’t ask what for because it doesn’t matter. Instead, I join Bronn outside and begrudgingly shut the door behind me.

***

I hear the music again that night, loud and harsh in my ears. I refuse to follow it. I know it wants me to leave and I will. I will find a way out, but not until I’m sure Tyrion is safe.

I toss and turn until exhaustion takes me for must only be a few hours. I wake and find Grey Wind up and staring at my chamber door, his hair standing on end, alert and intent. Rubbing my eyes, I rise from my bed and open the door for him. I barely have it cracked when he bounds through, disappearing into the darkened hallway. I hiss his name but he doesn’t return.

I move to follow him when my bare foot touches something circular and cold. Gleaming in the candle light, I pick up the structure and see that it’s a strange coin of sorts. A silver coin with strange markings on one side. A strange “M” cutting through a “D” along with words I’ve never heard or seen before, yet they seem familiar. On the other side is the shape of a hood with no face.

_Valar Morghulis._ The same strange voice echoes in the darkness.

“What does it mean?” I ask aloud.

A pause, then: _Braavos._

“Braavos?” I repeat. Somewhere I’ve read and heard about but have never ventured to. “Why Braavos?”

_He lives._

Suddenly, a large mangled wolf lunges at me from the darkness, clawing into my flesh.

Then I wake violently in my bed, startling Stalia into dropping some fabric in front of my wardrobe. Morning light filters in through my windows.

“I’m so sorry!” she says. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was bringing up your outfit for today’s events. Are you alright?”

I hastily check my surroundings. There’s no Grey Wind, no mangled wolf, no music, no voice. I sigh and wave her off.

“It wasn’t you,” I say. “I had a nightmare. That’s all.”

Stalia continues to apologize and begins to talk about the weather when I notice my right fist clenched in a vice-like grip. I furrow my eyebrows, slowly uncoiling my fingers. There, in the palm of my hand, rests the strange coin. I must have been holding onto it for dear life in my sleep because the marks in my palm from it are bloody. Speckles of my blood now shine on the silver in the light.

I quickly close my hand as Stalia nears, ripping me from my daze.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“About what?” I say too quickly.

She gives me a strange look but gestures to the outfit she’s laid on the bed. It’s not a dress as I suspected before, but a three piece ensemble. Grey, almost black pants complete with a lavender, feminine tunic of sorts with a thick, black strap to fasten around the waist.

I look at her in shock, running my free hand over the light, flowy material of the top.

“Where…how-”

“It took a while to have them made,” she says. “I worked on this one almost entirely on my own. There are two more in your wardrobe. They all coordinate with lavender, of course. But I made sure to add some red and gold as well, should you ever wish to keep the good portions of your family with you.”

I shake my head, still in awe. “I can’t believe you did this. My family will absolutely loathe it.” I smile at her. “Therefore, I love it all the more.”

A Lannister Lady not dressing properly? How shameful.

She smiles and takes my hand. “It should serve you well on your journey. You won’t have to worry about tripping over any extra fabric.”

I stare blankly at her. She pats my arm.

“I can sense that you’ve been wanting to venture out for some time,” she explains. “Do be careful, my Lady. Strange roads are dangerous in these times.”

I squeeze her hand. “Should I disappear, Stalia, you need to do the same. Use my name or Jaime’s to receive safe passage to Dorne. Go to your family. At the very least leave this castle and disappear into the city. I can’t promise your safety.”

“Worry not, Lysandra.” She smiles sadly. “You have enough on your mind on this wretched day.”

The trial by combat. With the nightmare, I nearly forgot. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest more violently by the second.

“Should it brighten your mood only a little,” she says, pulling out something wrapped in cloth from the foot of the bed.

I take it gingerly and remove the cloth, careful not to reveal the coin.

I gasp.

It’s a large, red sheath embroidered with gold patterns and two gold lions colliding near the top. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

“When you get your own sword,” she says with a hopeful smile.

I shake my head. “This is… beautiful. Thank you so much, Stalia.”

She embraces me, strong but brief and wipes hesitant tears from her eyes.

“You’ve been so kind to me,” she says gently. “It’s the least I can do. Though, I must admit, this idea was in fact, your brother’s.”

“My brother?”

“Jaime.” She nods. “He said you’d like it.”

I look down at the sheath again. Jaime. I haven’t spoken to him since a brief argument after Joffrey’s death. I wanted him to help me free Tyrion but he insisted the trial would clear him. That if it didn’t, he had a plan. I didn’t believe him. I still don’t. But I hate that I miss speaking to him. I hate that I feel the need to doubt him. And now this… how long was he been speaking with Stalia to have this made? He knows how much this means to me. I’ve always wanted to be appreciated for my fighting skills.

I shake myself out of it. Today is about Tyrion.

“I’d like my hair up and out of my face,” I say. “Simple. No braids. No intricate designs. Think of me as a woman ready for battle.”

Stalia nods firmly.

“May even the Mountain tremble with fear at the sight of you,” she says.

But as I look to the mysterious coin in my hand, it is I who tremble with fear.

***

Father’s song played loudly in my cursed ears over the crowd as Gregor Clegane crushed Oberyn Martell’s skull in his hands. The satisfying feeling of the looks of harsh disapproval of my attire drifted away as I felt my heart fail. The world seemed to slow entirely. I watched the look of fear take over Tyrion’s wary face. Jaime’s eyes closed in agonizing defeat at the sound of our father sentencing Tyrion to his death. I wanted to lunge at Cersei when she smiled in satisfaction. I wanted to rip my father apart for the sentence. But instead, all I could gather to do was flee from the horrific sight.

The farther I got from the sight, the less the music rang in my ears. I don’t understand the waves in which it decides to come. It’s unnerving. Like a creature creeping up in the night when you’ve finally let your guard down.

I haven’t seen Grey Wind since his strange disappearance in my nightmare that may as well have been real. The strange coin nearly burns a whole in my pocket whenever my mind drifts back to it.

Alone in my chambers, I hold my head in my hands. A satchel of the clothes Stalia made for me rests beside my feet. I packed my sheath and whatever provisions I could fit in the extra space. My boots tap in an agitated state against the stone floor. Nothing but the moonlight illuminates my room.

I need to move quickly, but it’s madness. How can I leave Tyrion in this state? Surely his execution will be held tomorrow. Father and Cersei won’t waste much time in sending him to his death. I have to get to him. I’ll become one with shadows and free him from his cell. I’ll-

That’s when I hear the music again. Very faint, but ever present. And somehow I know without a doubt, I have to follow it.

Leaving everything behind, it’s like I fall into a trance. It leads me all the way towards my father’s chambers, growing louder the closer I get. The first thing I see is Shae’s dead body sprawled across his bed. I freeze in the doorway, unable to move or look away from the scene. Then a surge of cold intolerance spreads through me. I feel no pity for her. Not after what she did to Tyrion. I’m sure it’s no coincidence she ended up in my father’s bed. I wouldn’t be surprised if father killed her himself.

Then the music shifts farther down the hall and I begin to grow weary. Why would father bed Shae and then kill her? It doesn’t make sense. He’s called her a worthless whore several times, but why kill her and make a spectacle of it?

That’s when I hear muffled voices melded with the music. Tyrion stands alone, facing father’s privy. Something large is in his hand but I can’t quite make out what it is or what they’re saying.

Tyrion? He must have escaped somehow. Maybe Jaime really did keep his word. But why risk confronting father now? He should be boarding a ship or hiding away somewhere far off. And yet, here he is. He must have found Shae’s body and went to confront father.

Then it clicks. Did Tyrion kill Shae? Did he find her in Tywin’s bed and become blinded with rage? No, he loved her. Surely he…

I’m about to announce myself when the first arrow is released. My whole body freezes in place. My brother is already loading another arrow before I hear father’s voice.

“You shot me.” I can hear father’s heavy breath.

Tyrion pretends as if he doesn’t hear him, snapping the arrow in place of the crossbow. I want to say something, to tell him to stop, but I can’t. But it’s worse than just being frozen from shock.

I don’t want to stop him.

“You’re no son of mine,” father says.

“I am your son,” Tyrion replies. The coldness in his voice unsettles me. “I have always been your son.”

With the release of the arrow, I know it’s over. I can hear my father cry out before his body slumps against an unseen wall. Tears fall slowly down my cheeks and I take a quiet, shaky breath to try to calm myself.

I watch as Tyrion’s gaze falls to the floor before he turns towards me and drops the crossbow. He freezes at the sight of me standing there, tears now flowing freely down my cheeks without so much as a sound. The stoic look on his face vanishes immediately. Shame and grief sweeps over him as I can only imagine what he’s thinking to say to me. His voice comes out shaky and thick.

“L-Lysandra, I-“

“You have to go,” I cut him off. The steadiness in my voice is unnerving, even to me. “They’ll come for you. You have to go now.”

He stares at me, dumbfounded, and I can see the tears in his eyes more clearly now. I reach out a hand to him.

“Please,” I say.

Tyrion looks at my hand and I can see the hesitation on his features. I can’t tell if it’s from disbelief at my reaction, or if he’s worried I’m going to hand him over to the guards.

“I can’t lose you,” I plead. “Please, Tyrion. You have to go to Varys. Now.”

I don’t have time to be shaken by the fact that I somehow know Tyrion must see Varys. It’s as if a tiny lock became broken in my hidden thoughts.

My words seem to shake him from his stupor, and he silently marches forward and takes my hand in his. The two of us don’t speak until we reach Varys’s chambers, careful to avoid any detection and move quickly.

“What have you done?” Varys says almost immediately when he sees Tyrion. His eyes flicker to me. “Quickly. Inside. The both of you.”

It doesn’t take much time for us to play out Varys’s plan and find the crate that he has waiting for my brother. It’ll keep him from any unwanted detection on the ship.

“And he’ll be safe?” I ask, eyeing the crate.

“At the very least it will get him far away from here,” Varys says. “One step at a time, my Lady.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“I suppose not,” he says. “But we must hurry.” He looks to Tyrion. “Trust me, my friend. I’ve brought you this far.”

My brother nods curtly. He hasn’t looked at me since I found him. I kneel down and hug him tightly.

“Be safe, brother,” I say, trying to hold it together. “May you take my love for you with you always.”

His embrace is weak but it’s there. I stand up and take a breath to keep myself from crying. I nod to Varys and turn to leave when Tyrion grabs my wrist. After a moment’s hesitation, he looks up at me. I can see the lostness in his eyes. The hurt. Betrayal. Fear. He squeezes my wrist gently.

“Come with me,” he says.

“What?”

“You can escape,” he insists. “You’ll die here. Whether it’s by Cersei or whoever you’re forced to marry next. You won’t have a choice in the matter. You’ll be trapped here.”

I’ve never seen my little brother so serious before. Not an ounce of mockery or a hint of teasing. Whenever Tyrion looks like that, I know just how fearful and sincere he is.

“I-”

“I’m afraid he’s right, my Lady,” Varys says.

I look between him and Tyrion and I can’t help but hesitate. I know what the voice said to do. If this ship is bringing him to Pentos, surely I can find a way to Braavos. I can start there and hopefully find a way to get to Robb. Wherever he is or whatever condition he may be in. If he’s even alive as I’ve been told to believe. But my mind strays to Jaime. Once he finds out father is dead, he’ll be sure that Tyrion did it and that I even helped him. He’ll hate us both for the rest of his days.

I think of Bronn and Stalia.

There’s no time for goodbyes.

I close my eyes and think of the mess we’ll leave in our wake. So many accusations never answered. So many possibilities taken from us by hatred and greed.

I try not to think of Shae and Tywin’s lifeless bodies not that far off.

Tyrion takes both my hands in his with urgency, prompting me to look at him. The tears in his eyes make my heart shrink. He believes he’s lost me completely.

“You’ve never abandoned me,” he says fiercely. “Not when I needed you. Never. And I haven’t returned it in kind. That stops now. Leave this shit city. Be free and start over somewhere else. Don’t rot away here. Your light is too bright, my dear sister.”

I try not to think of the things I’m leaving behind when I place a gentle kiss to Tyrion’s forehead.

“Get in the crate,” I say.

“Lysandra, please-”

“I will board the ship,” I promise. “I will see you when it’s safe.”

Relief flashes in my brother’s eyes before Varys ushers him into the crate. Varys turns to me.

“I left my things-” I start.

“Already taken care of, my Lady.”

“But how-” But he waves me off.

“I’ll show you the way,” he says. He grabs a cloak. “And put this on.”


	9. Valar Morghulis

**_Pentos_ **

Tyrion Lannister, filthy and exhausted, finally crawls out of his stowaway crate on solid land. Varys stands nearby, and after a few grumbles about the long journey back and forth, Tyrion finally takes in his new surroundings. The sea sparkles in the daylight, almost making him forget about the odor emanating from all around him. The sun is warm on his way face as he immediately seeks out any form of alcohol he can get his hands on. He barely moved in that crate for days on end, practically pissing and shitting himself in order to avoid detection.

But this, this he knows is Pentos. The start of a new miserable life for him. A chance to drink himself away until there’s nothing left of him to find. It’s with the smell of the wine in his hand that he realizes his sister is nowhere in sight. The two hadn’t spoken on the journey out of fear of giving him away, or perhaps there was simply nothing to say. He can’t blame her if she hates him now. After all, he’s the dwarf that’s officially made them orphans. Jaime will surely kill him if they should ever meet again. Why shouldn’t Lysandra despise his presence just like the rest?

With that thought, he chugs as much of the wonderful poison as he can. Then he eyes Varys. Surely he wouldn’t harm her or send her away against her will…

“She departed as soon as she knew you’d be safe,” Varys says smoothly, as if reading his friend’s thoughts. “I had no part in it besides assisting her with obtaining a map.”

Tyrion lowers the bottle. “Where has she gone?”

“I know not.”

“You seem to know everything, friend,” he says mockingly.

“She’s travelling North towards Braavos,” Varys replies. “Though I do not know if that is her destination. She seemed quite keen on not being followed.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows furrow. What business does Lysandra have in Braavos or anywhere in Essos? He’s always known she’s been to her fair share of places, but not many in Essos. His best guess, perhaps she feels that she can find the answer to her frighteningly vivid visions. He can only hope what she finds doesn’t drive her to further madness.

“I do believe she wanted to bid you farewell,” Varys offers. “But could not take to say such heavy words to her brother a second time.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Tyrion’s lips. He stares into the bottle, somehow hoping the answers to all of his desires reside in the dark colored liquid.

“I don’t know if I could face her again either, I suppose.” His voice is quiet.

“She did leave you this,” Varys says, holding out a crumpled piece of parchment.

Tyrion takes it gingerly and smooths out the hurried creases with his free thumb and forefinger.

_Be well. Know that I love you, brother._

_~L_

Tyrion grimaces, fighting back any painful tears that threaten to surface. His sister deserved far better than any of them had ever deserved. No one could see it until it was too late to make amends.

Not even him.

How he loved her so, and he couldn’t recall the last time he had spoken the words to her. When they were naïve children, he supposed. But now, he may never get the chance. He may never see her stubborn jawline when she shows her resilience; her long, dull blonde hair hanging over her shoulder like a royal cape. He may never get to tell her how proud he is of her strength. How proud he has always been, just by being her brother.

He stares at the parchment a moment longer before crumpling it into a tight fist.

“May whatever gods there are keep her safe,” he says.

Then he violently pukes into the greenery.

**_Lysandra_ **

**_Flatlands of Southern Andalos_ **

****

I’ve been walking for days in what seems like eerie silence. There have been no voices, no music, no visions of any kind. Grey Wind seems to have permanently disappeared and I feel more alone than ever before. The baggage I carry is light, but it weighs me down more and more with each passing hour. The weather is more sustainable than King’s Landing; the sun is beating down but isn’t nearly as unbearable.

I’ve been to Essos a handful of times, but mostly as a little girl. Even then, our visits were brief and I hardly remember anything other than the kindness of the people and the beautiful sunsets across the sea. As a child, I had such a fascination with ships. The city of Braavos has always fascinated me with its renowned freedom and wealth. I’ve heard so many tales growing up. I never imagined I would be travelling there for this purpose of all things. To find a murdered king that refuses to leave my thoughts. To find answers to the torturous music and visions that threaten to claim my life.

I look down at the map Varys gave me. Just enough direction to get me where I need to go. It’s been so long since I’ve had to follow a map, since I’ve had to travel so far on my feet alone. I travelled by foot with Robb Stark’s camp until he decided he didn’t despise me after all. I was eventually supplied a horse which I didn’t complain about in the slightest. It was miserable moving around all the time, setting up camp in locations that weren’t ideal; but in a way it showed me how to be strong. How to keep my face neutral and the fire within me kindling.

Sweat drips from my brow the further I walk. Thank the gods Stalia made me this ensemble. I’d be in far worse shape in a dress. Hells, I’d rather strut around in nothing at all if that was the case. It doesn’t help that there’s nothing but tall grass and dirt paths for farther than the eye can see. I haven’t seen a single soul nor creature since I set forth from Pentos. I’m beginning to doubt if I’ll make it to Braavos after all, still I continue on.

My mind wanders towards Westeros and the chaos ensuing throughout. Father is dead, killed in a rage by Tyrion. And despite my malice towards the man, I cannot help but mourn for him and the father he used to be to me. I shudder to think of the destruction that awaits King’s Landing; little Tommen as king and Cersei digging her claws into every decision he makes. She’ll ruin him. It’s inevitable. It won’t matter if Jaime is there to dissuade her or not.

Jaime.

My heart aches for him. I kept him pushed to a distance for what I thought was the right thing for myself. Yet, now all I have is regret for not allowing him to spend more time with me. Our time in the library brought me back to how things used to be between us. He confided in me his captivity, the loss of his hand, his strange feelings towards Brienne (though he wouldn’t admit anything other than “tolerating” her), and the coldness Cersei had shown him ever since his return. We felt like siblings again. Oh, how I wish I could write to him. But then, what would I say? That I didn’t conspire with Tyrion to murder father but I didn’t stay his hand either?

This only leads me to second guess my decision to not inform Tyrion of my destination, but I shake off the doubt. If he didn’t decide to follow me, he may have let it slip where I was headed. I can’t have anyone coming to look for me. Anyone I can trust is either dead or left behind in one part of the world or the next. I need answers that only I can find.

There is another reason why I didn’t tell Tyrion. Why I didn’t confide in Jaime more or Bronn or even Stalia. I’ve lost so much already. Losing anyone else that I care about… I don’t think I have enough strength to bare it.

And then I think of my time with Robb.

~

After Eddard Stark was executed, any progress Robb and I had made, though little it was, disappeared in an instant. He managed to hate my family even more than he already did and I became a constant reminder of his father’s murder. He was hateful and cruel, though he never struck me or starved me. He was a man of honor. But secretly I mourned for him and his family, though I did not know why. It was too difficult to see that I had begun to care for the young Wolf King. And after a time I believe he started to notice as well. He began to visit me in my guarded tent before he retired to his own, if only just a moment to make sure his “prisoner” had been properly fed.

One night, Robb entered while I was applying ointment to my various scars on my upper body. It was a simple concoction I invented, but it had always proven to be somewhat effective. He began to say something but stopped, his features slightly softened.

I followed his gaze to my revealed shoulder. The one violated with the scar of a vicious bite mark. It was gnarled and mostly white, but some of it had faded over the years. So many more covered my upper body including my arms and chest, not to mention a few on my thighs and stomach. They still plague me to this day.

I quickly pulled up my nightgown to cover it and stood, bowing my head a little. I wanted to say something cross or sharp about entering a Lady’s tent uninvited, but my vulnerability caught me off guard.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” I said. “I was just preparing for sleep.”

I turned away from him and walked towards the table that displayed a large map. I ran my hands over it and waited for him to leave. I listened for footsteps leaving the tent, but they didn’t come. 

“You mentioned hatred for your family because of their neglect,” Robb said. I heard him take a few steps closer. “Why do I feel that it runs deeper than that?”

I closed my eyes for a moment and took a breath to steady myself. 

“I was close with my siblings when we were children,” I said quietly. “We used to get in all kinds of trouble.” I smiled at the memory. “Despite Tywin and Cersei’s hatred for Tyrion, I always thought family would stand firm before anything else. Before any hatred, any argument, any jealousy that came and went.”

I opened my eyes, staring at the marks on the parchment below. The drawn castle that read _King’s Landing_. 

“My mother’s death weighed on everyone,” I continued. “Especially Cersei. It only turned her more hateful with age. My father was always harsh and vindictive but it was different after her death. His duties made him absent constantly, even when he was with us. We were placed into the care of others most of our lives. Still, it was bearable, at least for me; because we had each other.”

I turned towards Robb, resting my back against the table. I slid my hands along the edge, gently gripping the wood. I met his eyes for only a moment and could see his sole focus on me. I looked to the darkness outside. 

“As we grew up, Tyrion isolated himself with his books and I longed for adventure. I wanted to see the world and that brought me closer to Jaime. He promised he’d take me on one of his journeys that father would send him on. I knew about Cersei and Jaime’s relationship at the time, but I had no reason to believe that Cersei had any problem with my bond with him. After all, neither she nor I had trouble finding potential suitors. Well, when Tywin wanted Jaime to travel to Riverrun, my brother wanted to keep his promise to me.” 

I hesitated. I moved to my bed and sat back down, intertwining my fingers in my lap. To my surprise, Robb sat beside me. I still couldn’t meet his eyes, but I took his silence as encouragement.

“The night before our departure,” I continued, pulling down my sleeve to reveal the scar on my shoulder once again. “I was attacked outside my chambers. Four men dragged me off into the darkness. They gagged me so I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t make out their faces. They overpowered me. They… I don’t know how long they had me, but I eventually lost consciousness. I wasn’t found until late morning.”

I pulled my collar down just below my collar bone to reveal more various scars. It was only when I finally met Robb’s eyes that a tear fell down my cheek. I didn’t even realize I was struggling not to cry as I relived the memory.

His face was unreadable as he studied the scars I’d motioned to. There was something in his eyes I couldn’t decipher at the time, but now I realize it was longing. To heal what I had faced. To show me that I had nothing to fear in his presence.

“They’re all over me,” I whispered. “It’s like a brand I can’t scrub off.”

Robb gently pulled the material over my scars. Then he looked at me again and gently brushed away my tears with the back of his fingers. 

“Cersei sent those men,” he said. 

I nodded. “She told me herself when she visited me. There was no shame or regret on her face. It broke me, knowing the sister I loved could do something so vile.” I cleared my throat, trying to gather some composure. “Anyway, my brothers found out who the men were and had them killed. And you would think that would’ve made me feel better but it didn’t. There was no going back after that.”

Robb nodded, looking at the ground. “Your reputation, being sent from your home, the stories-”

“No one believed me,” I said. “Not really. Not even my father. My siblings and I knew the truth, but that did nothing to prevent my name from being soiled. I suppose I can’t blame Tywin for sending me to Casterly Rock. At least it felt like another home.”

“But you were all alone.” Robb said this mostly to himself, but I answered.

“I’ve grown accustomed to it,” I said. “It’s not as awful as it sounds.”

He took one of my hands in his, resting them on his thigh. I expected him to leave, to say that I was a liar. The mere touch caused me to stiffen just a little. For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just looked at the sight of our hands intertwined and lost ourselves in our thoughts. Finally, the Young Wolf spoke.

“I apologize for my harsh words,” he said, his voice sincere and strong. “And for what you’ve endured.”

“You have every right for what my family has put yours through,” I said. “And I haven’t exactly made it easy on you.”

“But you haven’t wronged me,” Robb said. He looked at me then. “No harm will come to you so long as you are within my protection. That is my vow to you.”

And he kept that vow for as long as he was able. After Jaime was released by Catelyn Stark, Lord Rickard Karstark attempted to kill me as an act of revenge when I was left alone to bathe. I would have died if it hadn’t been for Grey Wind. He sensed the danger before I could even scream. He was able to keep Lord Rickard at bay until Robb and some of his men heard the commotion. Needless to say I was guarded more thoroughly after that.

No, in the end Robb broke his vow through no fault of his own. He fell in love with Talisa. In truth, I hated how much I liked her. And if she hadn’t come along, I doubt I ever would have realized how deeply I cared for Robb Stark. Still, it hurt me more than any blade ever could.

~

I sit at a crossroads and eat the smallest portion of bread and hard cheese that I can spare. I take off my boots and massage my aching feet. It’s only midday and I want to travel as much as I can before dark. Walking by moonlight is fine for a while, but I’m more likely to get lost since everything around here looks even more alike at night.

I’m packing everything back into place and pulling on my shoes when I hear hooves and wheels in the distance. I get to my feet and spot a small wagon making its way on the path towards me.

I nod as it gets closer and step off to the side so they can pass without interruption. The wagon is pulled by two horses and accompanied by a male driver and a young boy with dark hair on foot beside it. The driver eyes me as they approach and the boy waves. I smile at him but it wavers as the wagon comes to a stop right in front of me. The driver narrows his eyes.

“Where are you headed?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“North,” I reply, but my voice is hoarse from underuse.

“How far North?” The boy chimes.

Not seeing a way around it, I finally tell them. “Braavos.”

A low whistle escapes from the man as he eyes me in a whole different light. He looks less suspicious now and more surprised.

“You’ve got a long way to go,” he says. “You’ll never get by with what’s in that pack of yours.”

“I’ll manage.”

“We’re going to Braavos!” The boy points to himself and the man. “You can come with us. We have a place to stay in the Coastlands and our family owns a ship near the island’s lagoon.” He turns to the driver. “She can come with us, can’t she Papa?”

The boy’s father gives him a look that silences him.

“No, no.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “I prefer to journey on my own.”

“What’s your name?” the driver asks.

I think quickly. “Keynna. I’m looking for a fresh start.”

He nods to his son. “This is Mateo. I’m Jallen. We can’t afford to bring any trouble with us. Trading takes enough of our time away from our families. Whether or not you’re telling the truth, I can’t risk getting involved. Especially not where my boy is concerned.”

“Of course,” I say. “I’m not looking for aid, sir. Though, if you could direct me to the quickest path, I’d be forever grateful.”

Jallen seems to size me up. The last thing I want to do is attract unwanted attention. I doubt the Lannisters are looked on very highly in this part of the world. One can never be too careful. I only hope my attire doesn’t look as royal as its material feels against my skin. I feel that it’s dirty enough at this point to sway any suspicion, but that’s just a necessary hope.

Mateo, who can’t be more than 14 years of age, casts a sullen look to his father.

“Papa,” he reasons.

Jallen sighs. “Perhaps you can accompany us to the Coastlands. You’ll have to find your own way from there.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly-”

“Exhaustion will claim you in the next few days should you travel by foot,” Jallen chides. “Accept my offer and be done with it.”

I quickly search my pockets.

“I only have a little money,” I say. “But I’d like to offer you-”

He waves me off. “Don’t slow us down, work when I need you too, and we’ll call it a fair bargain.”

But before he finishes, a few coins clumsily slip from their place in my pockets. I smile at him apologetically and stoop down to collect them. As I reach for the last coin, Mateo reaches it first. He means to hand it to me but he hesitates, studying the coin a moment more. Shock registers on his face as he looks from the coin to me. Then he backs away and holds out the coin to his father.

“Papa,” he says in a hushed whisper.

“Mateo,” Jallen scolds. “Give the lady her-”

But then he freezes. He gently takes the coin from Mateo’s hand and holds it out in my direction. He climbs down from his perch and walks until he’s a few feet in front of me.

“Where did you get this?” he asks, pure disbelief in his voice.

My breath catches as I realize this is the coin I received from the strange dark vision back in my chambers. The silver, iron coin with the strange markings. What did the voice say when I asked it what it was? I try to remember and then like an arrow shooting through the air, the voice sounds wistfully in my ears.

_Valar Morghulis._

I must repeat the phrase without realizing it because Jallen steps back as if startled. He looks down at the coin and then meets my eyes as if seeing me for the first time. Mateo moves to stand beside his father. They don’t seem frightened, but their reaction to the coin confuses me greatly.

“I’m sorry if I’ve caused offense,” I say.

Mateo whispers something to his father in a tongue I don’t recognize and Jallen nods.

Jallen carefully takes my hand and presses the coin into my palm, folding my fingers over it as if it’s a precious gem.

“Valar Dohaeris,” he whispers. “I will take you where you need to go.”

I blink. “But I-”

“You may rest in the wagon for a bit as we journey,” he says, a stoic look on his face. “Best get a move on. We have a long way to go yet.”

I try to question his motives further and the meaning of the coin, but Mateo is already ushering me towards the wagon with a small smile on his face.

As I settle myself against the hard floor of the wagon and take in the Flatlands as we ride, I try to reach out to the voice again. I try for something, anything, to help me understand my purpose on this journey. But I receive no reply.

It has left me alone once again.


	10. The Lost Lannister

**Braavosian Coastlands**

The journey to the village of Loros, a place that doesn’t even show up on any maps, was long and exhausting. Nights were short, food and water was used sparingly, and the weather was harsh when least expected. I tried to refuse any of Jallen and Mateo’s provisions but they wouldn’t have it. Just as they wouldn’t take a coin of my money no matter how often I offered. I was able to get a little bit of information about the mysterious iron coin from Jallen, but he seemed to be holding something back.

“Valar Morghulis,” he said. “It means, ‘All Men Must Die’.”

“And Valar D…”

“Valar Dohaeris,” he finished my thought. “‘All Men Must Serve’.”

“What does it mean?” I asked, looking over the markings again.

“The saying originated in Braavos,” Jallen explained. “It has since become a renowned saying throughout all of Essos. But what many don’t know is its association with the House of Black and White.”

“The House of Black and White,” I repeated slowly.

He nodded. “The home of the Many-Faced God and those who serve only him.”

I narrowed my eyes. “The Many-Faced God. You mean the God of Death?”

Since a child I had read many passages about the different religions, new and old, and what they represented. It was a necessity according to our Maester growing up. There were many readings about several types of gods, many that I found strange, but regardless I had forgotten them over the years. My own religion, the Faith of the Seven, seemed to die the night I lost my innocence to evil hands. I had heard in passing from Bravoosi men about serving the God of Death, but nothing that ever turned my head for long.

Jallen smiled at this. “The Many-Faced God goes by many names, but I believe you’ll learn all about that once we get you were you need to go.”

“But I don’t even know where that is,” I reasoned. “It’s so strange. I feel like I’m being pulled to this place but I have no idea why or what I’ll find.”

“Sometimes the paths we take need no reason,” he replied. “But if you have this coin, dear Keynna, it is not by accident. I can promise you this. You’re meant to journey to the House of Black and White. There, I believe you will find what it is that you seek.”

And as I lay in my designated cot in a strange, quiet village, I ponder over Jallen’s words. Tomorrow, we will journey by ship to Braavos. From there, Jallen will take me himself to the isolated House of Black and White. He doesn’t want Mateo to be dragged along for any longer than he needs to, despite how much his son will want to see the quest to the very end.

My bed for the night is angled towards the one window in the room. Jallen and Mateo are asleep down the small hallway. Their distant relatives were hesitant to welcome me until Jallen whispered something I can only assume was about the strange coin I had come to possess. They gave us a small feast and fresh water they had prepared for their family members. They’re all very charming, really. And despite the warmth towards me I couldn’t help but feel lonely. This was what I had always lacked throughout my growth. Acceptance. A family that nourished rather than berated. I couldn’t help but think of my siblings in that moment. Where had Tyrion wandered? What scheme were Cersei and Jaime surely plotting? Father’s downfall will affect the kingdom greatly. More greatly than Joffrey’s ever could.

Then Mateo had offered me more bread and told me a terrible joke, and I nearly forgot my questions and sorrow. The boy had a way with his demeanor, brightening any face he came across with his blue eyes and easy smile. He was quite the talkative fellow. I nearly confessed my true identity on our journey. Because of the coin or not, Jallen and Mateo’s kindness has affected me greatly in ways I didn’t expect. It will be difficult to say goodbye, but as Jallen voiced, it is my path.

Soft rain begins to fall on the patches of grass and mounds of rubble outside. The sound is soothing and it brings this smell in the air that makes me think of long summers and beautiful secrets. It was on a night such as this one that I hid away a secret even my father had no knowledge of. No one but myself and a few trusted allies at Casterly Rock all those years ago. Although it pains me dearly to think about, it is still a memory that I cherish. My longing to go back to the night I held him for the first time still slips into my dreams from time to time.

A child.

A beautiful, healthy, strong baby boy birthed from the worst moment of my life.

When I found out I was pregnant after the assault, I knew I should’ve hated the thing. I should’ve feared that this creation would turn dark like the men who hurt me so deeply. But despite my despair, I couldn’t help but think about all the moments I had dreamed about becoming a mother. And from that moment on, I couldn’t think of anything but protecting the thing growing within me.

I played into father’s fears of the people tarnishing the Lannister reputation further if I wasn’t sent away immediately. He agreed that some time at Casterly Rock would serve me well and I didn’t fight him on it. There were many reasons for me to want to leave King’s Landing, even temporarily, but I couldn’t allow my child to become a disgrace. Or worse, a pawn in a wicked family’s game.

So after the baby was born, I planned to leave Casterly Rock and journey to a far off place neither of us would ever be found. But as the days to the birth grew nearer, I knew that as long as the child was with me, they would never be safe from the clutches of Tywin. He would find me eventually. He had eyes everywhere when he needed then, and when he would finally decide to have me return, there would be no chance of protecting my boy.

I never named him. I never gave myself the chance to bond with him too closely, as if the bond between a mother and her child isn’t close enough on its own. A young woman who I had grown close to, Ellya, agreed to find a home for him. One where he would be cherished dearly despite his bastard nature. Somewhere in Dorne, where bastardy wasn’t so highly despised. I laid my eyes on my child for the first time on a night just like this one and said goodbye later in the same night; and he was carried onto a ship that led far away from me and any danger that my family could’ve inflicted on him.

I spent almost a year at Casterly Rock until Tywin deemed it was time for my return. I would’ve refused his request if I had had a choice in the matter, but I had grown to miss my brothers and friends in the city and felt it was time to return. It wasn’t long after the return that my homesickness faded and father’s deal with the Freys came to light. I was shipped off again and this time against my own will with no one to turn to.

Then there was my time with Robb Stark.

I almost told Robb about the pregnancy two times that I can recall. Once when I told him about the rape, and the other when we said our last goodbyes to each other. I wanted someone to know about my son and I wanted it to be him. I wanted to be able to trust him enough to tell him and no one else. To this day I’m not sure why, and I’m also unsure as to why I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Being around Robb made me feel that I wasn’t meant to be alone.

Yet here I am, alone again.

***

**Braavos**

The islands are more beautiful than I could’ve imagined. They’re connected by stone bridges and are overrun with many different styled buildings that practically lean into one another, but it comes together majestically. The water surrounding the different islands of Braavos sparkles in the sunlight. The smell of salt water is calming as one walks along the shores. It’s littered with all kinds of people from different areas of the world. There are ships and traders and all kinds of workers scattered about, yelling orders and exchanging pleasantries. Even the way they dress here is so different than King’s Landing. The city is so open and full of adventure.

I can see why it’s known as the most powerful Free City.

Mateo laughs at my awe of the massive stone Titan that stands guard over the harbor’s entrance. He leans towards me and whispers, “Papa says it’s nearly 400 feet tall.”

I shake my head in disbelief, taking in the canals and means of transport. I’ve never seen so many ships in one vicinity. The one we traveled here on was small, but very well kept. I can only imagine what some of these larger structures contain.

When we reach the family’s home, a small but surprisingly welcoming building, it is time for me to part ways with Mateo for the last time. He goes to hug me, but stops himself, instead extending his hand. I smile and shake it and he smiles sadly in return. He then presses something into my palm. I unfurl my fingers and see that it’s a small carving of a ship. Very similar to the one we travelled on.

“May it protect you,” Mateo says.

I pause, looking down at the figurine. Then I hide the ache in my heart by ruffling his hair.

“Thank you, Mateo. I wish you and your family good fortune.”

I squeeze his hand one last time before following Jallen down to the docks, fighting the urge to look back one last time.

***

There it is. The House of Black and White. The structure is massive and takes my breath away. How can a building be so intimidating? Why do I feel so fearful just by staring at its black and white doors? The closer Jallen and I row to it, the more my mind seems to slip out of my control. As terrifying as it is, I know that it’s a sign that I’m on the right path. This is where I’m meant to find the answers I seek, if only some of them.

Could Robb Stark truly be hidden away somewhere within those walls? Or have my visions of him meant something else entirely? Something more sinister that I haven’t been able to discover in time. Something that could bring more harm than anything else.

The House of Black and White is completely isolated on its on island. One can only approach by ship or a singular stone bridge a far way’s off. It must have endless floors lined up inside, or a strangely high depicted ceiling. Like a superior temple that everyone must worship regardless of the gods they serve.

Jallen pulls the boat as close to the dock as possible, helping me with his free hand to step off the boat and onto solid ground. I look at the temple, then back to Jallen who’s studying me closely.

“I suppose I’ll never see you again,” I say.

He smiles. “You may, Lady Keynna. You may.”

“Thank you, friend,” I say, returning his warmth. “I wouldn’t have gotten far without you.”

Jallen touches two fingers to his brow and motions them towards me.

“Valar Morghulis,” he says.

I mimick his movement. “Valar Dohaeris.”

He pushes himself away from the dock, casting me one last look before focusing on his direction. I watch him row away back towards his home island and I sigh.

“Farewell, Jallen.” My voice is quiet. “Farewell, Mateo. May your Gods watch over you always.”

Then I turn to the looming force awaiting me. I try to focus on the sunlight beating down on my tanning skin. The sound of the water slapping against the rocks is soothing. The light wind in the air roams through my hair as I make my way towards the steps. There are two doors together at the entrance. One is painted back and the other white. There is no sign of life anywhere.

I hesitate at the bottom of the steps, but I can feel a force urging me onwards. I think I hear someone whisper to me, but when I turn my head there is no one in sight. I look down at the iron coin in my readied hand and realize how unprepared I am. I have no weapon to defend myself and merely a small pocket of coins for when the need arises. I have nothing to offer but the clothes and meager food in my pack.

I once asked Robb if he was afraid going into battle. Afraid of leading so many.

“I’d be a fool not to be,” he told me. “It’s important, I think, to be afraid. It reminds you what you’re fighting for and how far you’re willing to go. It’s my duty to lead my men to victory. To show them I’ll always fight by their side. We’ll fight through every fear we have together, and we will succeed.”

I take a deep breath. I don’t have anyone to lead but myself, and that will have to be enough.

I knock on the black door and wait, coin in hand, chest tall. I will face whatever happens head on. I will not show fear and I will find whatever it is I’m looking for.

I wait.

And wait.

Nothing. I knock again, this time on the white door. Then black. Then both at the same time.

No sounds, no sign of anything shifting. No answer.

I attempt to push open the doors but they don’t budge. Either no one is in the House of Black and White, which I know can’t be the case, or they don’t want any visitors.

“Hello?” I call out. “Apologies for the intrusion, but I was hoping to speak to someone about… some images I’ve been seeing.”

I wait for a few moments but nothing happens. I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’ve been a complete fool. A complete fool with no purpose and no sense of direction. But it doesn’t make any sense. Why give me this coin? Why tell me to go to Braavos, lead me to the House of Black and White, and just abandon me when I’m so close to whatever journey these voices want me to follow?

A test, perhaps. Maybe I’m supposed to wait here until someone leaves or approaches. Maybe I’ve come too early or I was meant to go somewhere else in Braavos. How long will this test last? What am I to do when the voices and visions have left me with nothing but a mysterious coin and an empty promise of answers?

I shake my head, heading down the steps.

No. I won’t wait around. There are worse cities to be trapped in than Braavos. Perhaps I can start over here like I told Jallen and Mateo. I can change my appearance, leave the Lannister name behind me for good. This could be the chance I’ve been waiting for. I could officially become Keynna Bryne.

A slow whine makes me freeze. I look over my shoulder to see the black door now slightly ajar. It’s open just enough for me to partially make out a large, stone statue. Multiple flames flicker on candle stems. It’s a lot darker than I expected, despite there being no visible windows in sight.

I take a deep breath to steady myself. I’m afraid that if I hesitate any longer, the door will close before I can reach it. I make haste, gently pushing the door open further.

My footsteps echo on the stone floor. I shut the door as gently as I can, but the sound echoes sharply throughout the large hall. Little light is cast from the ceiling and many bowls of flame line the room. Some on the floor, some on shelves. Large, beautiful statues of religious deities line the hallway and in the direct center is a large pool of water. Odd really, but I can only assume it’s used for worship purposes.

I see a few men in dark robes disappear around the far corner. I mean to call out to them but the silence is almost crushing. I walk over to a statue I recognize. The face of the Old Gods of the Forest. There’s something unsettling about it. Most of the statues are, and I begin to wonder which one is meant to signify the Many-Faced God that Jallen mentioned. The God of Death.

My hand moves to touch the statue when something clatters to the floor. I grab my chest, heart beating violently as I see the coin I was holding roll away from me. I close my eyes and curse myself before going to fetch it.

I cover my mouth to keep from crying out when a robed man moves forward from the shadows. I can’t see his face from beneath the gray hood but I know he’s looking directly at me. He stoops down and collects the coin as it rolls to a stop near his feet. He takes a few steps toward me and I hold my ground, fists clenched at my sides.

He reaches his hand out.

“I believe you dropped this,” his soft voice says.

When I don’t take it, he removes his hood to reveal a pale man with long, black hair flowing just past his shoulders. His silver blue eyes make me uneasy as he watches my reactions. Like a predator waiting patiently for its prey. A slow smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He bows his head to me slightly.

“Valar Morghulis.”

“All Men Must Die,” I say quietly.

“Ah.” He comes forward and presses the coin into my hand. “And Valar Dohaeris. All Men Must Serve. Have you come to serve, Lady Lysandra?”

I jerk back from his touch, reaching for a sword I know isn’t there.

“How do you know my name?” I demand.

“You’ve been chosen by the Many-Faced God,” he replies. “To serve a higher purpose. To change an unforeseeable path, should you choose to accept it.”

“What do you know of my visions?”

“That they will overcome you if you are not strong enough to wield them,” he says. “Many men have fallen into despair. Not every being can withstand the trials of the Many-Faced God.”

I shake my head. “They came to me suddenly. I can’t control what I see or feel. I’m going mad.”

“You’re losing your hold.” He nods. “Soon there will be nothing left of Lysandra Lannister.”

I narrow my eyes. “Who are you? How do you know this? How do you know me?”

“I am No One,” he says with a small smile. “But, as I wear the face of Rewan Stingryn, you may call me Rewan.”

“No One?”

“It is the duty of the Faceless Men,” Rewan explains. “We are not tied to who we were or who we may become. We are simply who we must be in order to serve. And in time you will understand this that I have spoken.”

I search for words but come up empty. There are so many stories I’ve heard of as a little girl. Whispers of tales that seemed too outlandish to be true, but if the Faceless Men are in fact real, what other things lie in wait in the dark?

“Can you help me?” I finally ask.

“Perhaps,” he says. “If you are ready.”

“To be like you?”

He looks at me. “To be No One.”

That’s when I see movement from far behind Rewan. The tuft of fur makes my heart leap. My mind jolts back to my meaningless hope. I point to Grey Wind.

“I’m looking for-”

“He seeks his master,” Rewan says without following my gaze. “And you may find him, should you succeed.”

I keep my eyes on Grey Wind until he disappears among the shadows again. I’m finally not the only one who can see him.

I turn to the Faceless Man.

“What do I have to do?”

He points to the doorway. “You must kill Lysandra Lannister.”

My eyebrows furrow.

“You have her clothes,” he says. “Her possessions. You must become No One. You must serve the Many-Faced God. There is no room for Lysandra here.”

In an instant, a young girl approaches me with a set of drab, fresh clothes. A plain gown that I never would have worn before in my life. It reminds me of a commoner’s dress. As quick as she’s there, she disappears.

A thought comes to me and I turn to Rewan once more.

“I understand,” I say. “And I’ll need to borrow a blade. Just for a moment.”

He doesn’t question me. Instead, he unveils a dagger from his torso that I hadn’t noticed before. I bow slightly, unsure if that’s the right courtesy here, and head outside.

***

The gown fits fine. The material is comfortable at the very least. I don’t know whether to trust Rewan or not, but I decide I must always stay on my guard. I don’t know what sort of training he has in store for me and my visions, but it’s better than anything I could have hoped for before. I just wish I didn’t have to get rid of _everything_. I could part with the money and most of the things in my pack, but my heart aches at the thought of losing the items closest to me.

The clothes Stalia made especially for me. The sheath Jaime had designed for a future sword I may hold. The ship figurine that Mateo crafted.

I look over at the water. These items are the only things that remain of Lysandra Lannister. The gold is gone. The provisions. The pack itself. Even my shoes.

I close my eyes, tears spilling over as I embrace the items one final time.

Then I throw them into the water, watching them sink until even the glint of the sheath disappears from view. I allow myself a moment and I sit on the edge of the island.

_I had to._ I remind myself. _It was necessary. They’re just things._

But it’s a lot harder to grasp than I thought it would be.

I have to focus on the next step. Rewan told me I have to become No One, and No One is who I shall become.

I pick up Rewan’s curved blade from off the ground and study it carefully, contemplating my next move. If I am to become No One, I have to rid myself of the material things I’ve cared about. Things that wouldn’t matter to No One.

I carefully swipe the blade through my hair before I can change my mind.

I loved my long, blonde hair. It made me feel empowered. A silly, mundane thing I cherished since I was little. Now it lies in heaps around me. I touch the newly cut ends with my fingertips. A little jagged perhaps, but smooth. My lioness hair now stops just above my shoulders. The kingdom would shame me, especially Cersei.

But those are thoughts of the nearing past.

Lysandra Lannister is dead.


	11. Rise of the Shadow

**The House of Black and White**

**Braavos**

**Day 5**

“Who are you?”

“No one.”

A slash of pain erupts against my face. I swipe the blood away with the back of my hand.

“Now, who were you before you arrived?”

I glare at him. “My name was Lysandra Lannister. I was the daughter of late Tywin and Joanna Lannister. Sister to Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion Lannister.”

“Tell me more about Lysandra,” Rewan says. “What were her weaknesses?”

I hesitate, hand at the ready to block another blow.

“Abandonment,” I say. “Incompetence. Impulsiveness. She could be stubborn to a fault.”

“Did she care for her brothers?”

“She loved them. Even when they abandoned her.”

“And her sister?”

“She hated her.”

Another crash of pain. I rub my shoulder.

“Lysandra wanted to hate her, but a small part of her would always love her sister.”

Rewan nods. “The truth.”

We’ve been playing The Game of Faces for days on end. The goal is to gain the ability to lie without even the possibility of detection. One must relinquish their identity completely for one to truly become “no one”. A Faceless Man.

I hate this fucking game.

Every time I believe I’ve made progress, I’m sent back 100 paces. I’m slowly losing grip on who I am, or rather, who I was. I know this is what I want and what I need in order to learn the truth about Robb, but I’ve underestimated the cost.

I haven’t had any visions since my arrival and Rewan refuses to address them until I’m “ready to become no one.” At this rate, it seems like it’ll be years before I’m deemed even close to ready. But I do as I’m told. It’s all I can do.

**Day 13**

“Who are you?”

“My name is Keynna. I was born a bastard in Dorne and spent most of my life there.”

“And what has brought you to Braavos?”

“The ones who cared for me died from illness. I got on the first boat out. Now, here I am.”

“And what do you do here?”

“I sell fish down at the market and-”

I’m cut off by a strong lash against my face. I control my reaction the best I can.

“You gripped your knee,” Rewan says in disappointment, but there’s the tiniest shadow of pride behind his cold eyes. “The smallest misstep will get you killed.”

I nod once, my stance stiff and at the ready.

“The visions won’t let you in until you can show complete control,” he continues. “They’re better, yes? But it’s not enough.”

I nod again. The visions have been getting better. The attacks I have are growing less and less frequent, but I’m not able to see what I want to. What I need to. Whatever the Many-Faced God has chosen me for, I will do whatever I must to fulfill it. I will do what is necessary.

No matter what it takes.

**Day 25**

**Across the Long Canal**

I follow my target through the canal streets, wheelbarrow of various seafood in hand. I call out the items I’m selling, stopping every once in a while for someone who is interested in purchasing. If asked, today I am known as Aalya. I blend in well with the other merchants among the fishmarket. I keep my head held high and my gaze steady and calculated.

He’ll be alone soon enough, disappearing into one of the streets before heading to one of his many favorite brothels.

I have no connection to this man, yet I know his every move. I know where he sleeps, drinks, eats, travels. It’s clear that he isn’t from here, nor will he stay in Braavos for much longer. He has just enough wealth to make him seem like he’s worth more than he actually is.

I have no personal connection to this man, but I know what I must. Rewan calls him The Grey Traveler, and I am tasked with his dispatchment. I do not know the reason and I do not ask. I am meant to take his life and I will not fail.

He won’t be my first kill in Braavos.

**Day 30**

**The House of Black and White**

My daily sparring with Rewan has commenced. Long, wooden sticks clash on a platform, testing my balance and reflexes every second. I duck under his jab, hitting away his weapon with my own. I hit his leg but he quickly counteracts, knocking me off my feet entirely. I land on my back with a hard _thud_. I barely let myself catch my breath before I use my momentum to hurl myself back to a standing position. We continue like this for hours, drenched in sweat by the end of the lesson.

I wipe my forehead with my arm and toss the stick onto the ground. I know we’ll soon feast on only the bare minimum of what our body needs. Enough to keep us strong and nourished and nothing more. Rewan gestures for me to sit with him on the ground and I do.

“What is your name?” he asks softly.

“A woman has no name,” I reply, and the words fall so easily from my lips.

“And what of your visions?”

“Nothing of note,” I say. “Images I do not understand. Voices that are merely muffled whispers. But I trust the Many-Faced God and his mission.”

Rewan nods. “Your mind is becoming clearer. You are near to where you must arrive.”

“Have I not performed every task you’ve asked of me? Have I not proven myself to you?”

“You must prove yourself to the God of Death,” he replies. “It is not my decision to bestow.”

“And what of Robb Stark?” I demand. “You told me if-”

“A woman asks of Robb Stark because Lysandra Lannister cared for him,” Rewan warns.

I sigh, knowing he’s right.

“The Many-Faced God gave me those visions for a reason,” I say. “Robb Stark could be essential to my purpose.”

To my surprise, he smiles.

“That may be true,” he says. Then he pauses, his smile disappearing. “I have another task for you. It must be done tonight.”

“What is it?”

“A man has wronged the Many-Faced God,” he says. “His time has come to an end. You will see it through.”

I level his gaze with my own. I’ve already taken lives in the name of this god, I’ll do so again. Anything that will allow me to harness the madness that’s overtaken my mind.

I lean forward. “Where will I find this man?”

***

The small alleyways are silent tonight aside from the brothels and alehouses. A few lamps light the narrowed streets casting plenty of shadow for me to slip into. Pleasant songs can be heard in the distance, growing louder when a door is opened on the way in and out. At this time of night, my target will be found near Ragman’s Harbor. No doubt tending to his ship before heading home from a long day’s work.

I could sense this task was different from the start. I didn’t have to follow this man for days, learning his mannerisms before making my move. Rewan seemed to challenge me when giving me this task, and he knew I could feel his certainty that I would fail. So in my heart, I know who my target is before the lamplight even shines on his face.

He looks up at me, the dark figure approaching him in the distance. He’s weary at first, running a hand through his sweat-matted dark hair and shifting his stance. When I come into the light, he smiles warmly, his eyes registering delighted surprise.

“Keynna,” Jallen says incredulously. “Is that you?”

I smile. “Hello, Jallen.”

He quickly beckons me onto the boat, clasping my hands with his own as he helps me onboard. He sits on a nearby crate and pulls up another. I sit beside him, ignoring the pang of dread in my heart.

“How is Mateo?” I ask. “Your family?”

“Strong,” he says with a smile. “Life here suits us well. And how are you fairing? Have you found what you seek?”

I think back to my arrival, the training, the handful of men I’ve killed, the god I serve, I think of Robb Stark.

“Almost,” I say softly.

“Have you been working?” he asks, eyeing my merchant clothing.

I nod. “Mostly down at the fishmarket.”

“Were you on your way home? This is a far way from the temple.”

“No,” I say. “I’ve been staying at an inn closer to work. I realized I didn’t want what The House of Black and White was offering. I visit from time to time, but that’s it. You’ve actually caught me on one of my nightly walks.”

He nods, an easy smile on his face. He believes every word I’ve said, and I have to say I’ve nearly convinced myself. Lying comes so easily now. Actually becoming who I need to be is no simple task, but I’ve grown much more accustomed to it. But even Rewan knows I’ve been holding back. Something has been keeping me from completely giving myself to the cause. This is his way of testing me.

I’ll need all the strength I can gather for what’s to come.

“It fills me with joy to know you’re adjusting well,” Jallen says. He pours some ale into a cup and hands me one. “To new beginnings.”

“Yes,” I say, clinking my cup against his own. “New beginnings.”

I raise the cup to my lips but don’t take a drink. Instead, I watch him as he closes his eyes and takes a long gulp, savoring the taste. He brings the cup down to rest on his lap, keeping his eyes closed and his face content. I set my cup down beside me. The ale sloshes over the side as the boat gently bobs in the harbor.

“You know, I used to worry about Mateo.” Jallen opens his eyes to look at me now. “I’ve been dragging him all over the world so he can learn the family trade. I was afraid I was being too hard on him, but then I realized he welcomes the challenge. He keeps telling me he wants to grow up to be like his Papa. Never seen a kid work so hard in my life.”

My hand rests on my knee. A little lower and I’ll be able to drag the dagger into my hold undetected. It’ll be quicker, with little sound to rouse anyone nearby. But I hesitate at the look in Jallen’s eyes when he speaks of Mateo. He loves his boy so much. From the short time I was with them, I could see that Jallen was a good man. What could he have possibly done to anger the Many-Faced God? No, Rewan must have given me this task to show me that I can’t let go of my past. I really thought I could… but looking at Jallen now, I think Rewan may be right after all.

“Mateo is very special,” I say, willing my voice to remain steady. “And he’s lucky to have someone like you for a father. I mean that wholeheartedly.”

His smile widens a bit. “You should join us for dinner tonight. It’s not much, but I know my family would be delighted to see you.”

I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You’re too kind, but I must be heading back soon. Perhaps another night.”

“I’d offer you a room with us if we had any,” Jallen says. “I’m sure I’d charge you far less than that inn you’re staying at. Do visit though, will you? Mateo has been speaking of you.”

The smile on my face is painful. “I will.”

He drinks the remainder of his ale and sighs. He gets up and lends his hand.

“I truly thought the temple could help you,” he says. “Maybe if you give them another chance, you’ll find what you seek.”

I take his hand and rise to my feet as well.

“Maybe,” I say.

My hands relax at my sides. I look at the man I’ve come to know as my friend as he begins to organize the last few items for the next day. He’ll be heading home to his family in the next few moments. His life may end soon, but not today and not by my hand. This is a cruel test that I refuse to pass. This man has been nothing but kind to me. He helped me when I had no one else. When I was naïve and lost, he was there to bring me where I needed to be.

My thoughts subside. An eerie calm comes over me. The whispers begin as they have many times before, quiet and slow.

_One death. One life._

I’m unable to move. For the first time, I can hear these voices clearly and without confusion. This is what is necessary. In order to move forward, I must do what is difficult.

I am no longer Lysandra Lannister. This man was cared for by _her_. This man helped _her_ when _she_ had no one. I haven’t been Lysandra Lannister since I gave my loyalty to the Many-Faced God and his purpose.

This man is a good man, it’s true. But even good men must face the God of Death.

And so, before Jallen can turn back to face me, I slide the dagger out from my boot and bring my arm firmly around his neck. His surprise overwhelms his instinct to fight me off.

“Keynna, what-” But I cover his mouth quickly.

I do what I’ve been taught and use my target’s weight against him. He reaches quickly for my arms but he is no fighter. I hold him tightly against my chest, keeping my eyes on the dark sky above. Keeping the beautiful stars in my mind, I close my eyes.

It will be quick. No witnesses. Barely a sound. Just like all the others.

There’s a reason why they call me The Shadow around here.

With one quick jerk, my blade slashes his exposed throat.

I hold him tighter as the blood spurts out and down his torso. His body jerks and I quickly thrust the blade directly into his heart, twisting swiftly.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” I can’t help but whisper.

His body stills, slumping backwards against me. I carefully lay him down and my heart crumbles at the sight of what I’ve done. I close his dull eyes gently. Silently, I say a prayer over him, though I know I have no right to.

I check my surroundings before carefully dragging his body below deck.

***

I walk up the steps of the House of Black and White feeling sick. My blood-soaked sleeves are easy to hide in the shadows of the night. I was able to wash my hands in the harbor the best I could.

Rewan is waiting for me inside the entrance, his arms crossed and breathing steady. He takes in my appearance as I close the door behind me. The halls are empty except for us and the flickering flames. I face him directly.

A small smile forms on his lips.

“There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Without a word, I follow him down the steps on the far side of the temple. He leads me down to the lowest level, a place I have not been allowed before, but I’ve had a notion as to what is kept hidden below. The torches illuminate the darkened, winding staircases. Finally, I’m lead into a room with large pillars that hold many hollowed out crevices. This chamber is hidden from everyday eyes, and I as I get closer I can see why.

The pillars house multitudes of faces. Skinned faces of the dead.

So this is how the Faceless Men perform their trickery. Their secret magic. This is how they can become whoever they need to be. They take the faces of those who come to die here, of those they kill. They wash and prepare their corpses for this stage. The stage where “no one” can become “anyone”.

My thoughts flash to Jallen’s lifeless body. I’m unable to hide the gratitude from my thoughts that it was not my mission to take his face. But if it had been, I know I would’ve.

It was necessary.

“This is the Hall of Faces,” Rewan says. “You are ready.”

I turn to him. “For what?”

“To become no one. To serve the Many-Faced God.”

“Then I want answers.”

“I don’t-”

“I just killed a good man to _serve_ ,” I snap. “A made an innocent child fatherless to _serve_. I want answers.”

He furrows his brows. “What is it you wish to know?”

“You said I was chosen for a higher purpose,” I say. “What is it? Why me?”

He looks confused, as if this is something I should already know. He crosses his arms, considering me.

“The Many-Faced God’s reasons are his own,” he replies. “But those who serve him know that the future of Westeros and Essos alike are bleak. The dangers that lie among the Wall of Westeros are growing darker. The entities in the Shadowlands are growing restless. Something is coming to end us all… and it begins with Westeros.”

“Beyond the Wall?” I ask, thinking back to the stories of the Night’s Watch.

“He has given you the gift of Sight,” Rewan continues. “And it is that you will use to play your part in the protection of the Realms. From the pale creatures who seek to turn the sky dark for eternity. From those who seek to become mad tyrants.”

I look away from him to the faces on the walls. I know I will do whatever I must to serve, but how am I supposed to help protect the realms? I’m only one person.

“Is Robb Stark alive?” My voice comes out softer than I expect.

I hold my breath as I wait for the answer. I’ve felt a connection to Robb from the very beginning. It can’t be a coincidence that I’ve been having visions of him. Presumably from the God of Death.

I finally turn to Rewan and his expression is cautious.

“You are not the only one the Many-Faced God has chosen.”

I glare at him. “What does that mean?”

But before he can answer, my vision turns white and I fall to my knees. I’m somewhere different now. Somewhere in Braavos. It’s daytime, the winds are harsh and the sun is beating down. People are chattering in the streets, merchants are selling everything imaginable. I’m walking towards something, looking for someone. There’s a dark grey building with broken stones, and a little farther beyond that I see him.

He’s dressed in Braavosi attire, selling fresh fish from a well-built stand. He shakes the hand of a fisherman as he hands over some wrapped fish. His hair is as dark and curly as I remember. His facial hair is fuller. And, if I look closely enough, I can see jagged white line of a scar circling the entirety of his neck.

I gasp but no sound comes out. Yet, I believe he still hears me, even among all the noise. He searches the crowd of faces before his eyes land on me. And the world seems to still before us.

Robb Stark is alive. Here in Braavos.

I’m pulled back into reality, gasping for air as my hands rest firmly on the floor. I cough from the intensity of the vision, expecting to vomit at any moment. When I’m sure I can stand again, I rise to my feet. Rewan is unfazed, looking at me expectantly.

“Where is he?” I demand.

“Tomorrow you will go about your duties,” he says. “The direwolf will show you where to go.”

“Grey Wind? Where is he?”

“Tomorrow,” he says again. Then he gestures to the faces. “You still have more to learn.”

“But you already said I’ve proven myself. I can be no one.”

“You are.” He nods. “Yet, you’ve always been No One.”

I can only stare at him.

He smiles sadly. “Lysandra Lannister died when her mother, Joanna, took a poison to end her pregnancy. But the Many-Faced God saw something in Lysandra. Something bigger than anyone could possibly understand. He saved the baby, for she was meant to serve. To pave the way for a better future. You have always been No One.”

I stand there stunned. I’ve told Rewan about everything I used to be. Everything I saw myself as. But never once did I mention what Tywin revealed to me in that tower. If anything, it was the easiest part of me to be able to push out of my mind for good. It was too painful. And now the thought that I was never meant to be here at all. I was never meant to have anything. No good memories or bad. No love nor hate. I was simply meant to cease to exist.

And now, as remarkable as it may be, I feel that I understand. I understand why I’ve felt distant from everything my entire life. Why I’ve always felt the need to fight for a home, to belong. The only reason I exist is to serve this purpose a god chose for me before I even took my first breath.

I am No One. But a part of me will always be Lysandra Lannister.

“Now,” Rewan says. “I will teach you how to become… anyone.”

***

I leave the House of Black and White in the early morning in traditional Braavosi clothes that are similar to the ones Stalia made for me back in King’s Landing. The colors are dark red and black, one of many inconspicuous clothing ensembles I’ve acquired while training as a Faceless Man.

My short hair flows freely as I wander the Braavosi streets. It’s when I hit Silty Town that I feel a presence in the air. I begin checking around each house, keeping to the shadows and watching every odd movement. I must walk for about half the day because by the time the sun begins to sink in the sky, I’m close to just returning to the temple.

That’s when I hear the music. It’s so far in the distance that I only thought of it as background noise from an nearby alehouse or playhouse. But the familiarity makes me stop in my tracks. It’s not playing in the city. It’s father’s song. The Rains of Castamere. It’s in my mind.

I follow the street I’m on. As the music grows louder, I know I’m on the right track. But it’s different now. It’s not blaring in my ears, sending pain throughout my body. It’s controlled, as if it’s working _for_ me rather than against me. It’s leading me to where I need to go.

That’s when I see Grey Wind. He sits on the stoop outside a small house as if he’s been there the entire time waiting for me, and maybe he has. He cocks his head to the side before heading over to me. I smile and meet him half way. He seems healthier somehow. His smoke grey fur is richer in color, his gold eyes are brighter, and even his walk is stronger.

His height comes up to my midsection and he nuzzles his black nose into my side. I welcome the worried glances of passerbys as they look at the large direwolf. It means he’s actually here. Not some hallucination I’ve conjured. Some look on him in fear, others look a mixture of amazement and confusion. I have no doubt he’s been around the city, so he must at least have some familiarity among the residents.

Grey Wind whines a little, licking my cheek when I bend down to pet him. It’s so comforting, feeling as though I’ve reunited with an old friend. His ears perk up and suddenly he’s looking in the opposite direction. He quickly trots off and I follow after him, weaving through people and merchant carts.

Then it’s as if my vision from last night comes to life. The wind picks up and the sun beats down onto my face as I round the corner, out of the shadows of the tall buildings. I see the merchants. I see the dark grey building with broken stones. It’s in this moment that I realize it doesn’t matter who I am. Lysandra Lannister of King’s Landing. No One. A Faceless Man. I just want to see him. I need to know he’s alive. I need to know he’s okay.

Grey Wind comes to a halt. I know that when I follow his gaze, I’ll see him.

Then I hear the Young Wolf’s voice. The voice that makes my cold heart stop.

“Lysandra?”


	12. The Rains of Castamere

The voice is carried away in the loud chatter and the clanging of metal, so much so that I think I’ve hallucinated it altogether. My father’s song begins to fade and it’s then that I see, through the fishermen and merchants, the shape of his stance, the small curls of his hair, the fullness of his beard; but he isn’t looking at me. He’s talking to the same fisherman I saw in my vision, shaking his hand and giving him wrapped fish. The whiteness of his scar appears to gleam in the sunlight. The merchant Braavosi attire fits his form as if he’s lived here his entire life. He’s dressed in a mixture of charcoal grey and deep purple. They look comfortable and warm against the crisp wind that constantly moves throughout the clustered parts of the city.

The tanned color of his skin, the slight flush in his cheeks; it makes my heart swell with joy. It means he’s alive. It wasn’t just a dream. It wasn’t all in my mind. I didn’t come to Braavos on a false hope.

He’s here. He’s alive.

I realize the voice must have been my imagination because he hasn’t seen me. Not yet. And why does the thought of him looking upon me after all this time bring me such hesitation? For the first time since I arrived at the House of Black and White, I’m scared. So much has happened. So much hatred and loss. What does he remember? Has he chosen to forget?

I’m about to step back into the shadows but it’s too late. A strange look comes over Robb’s face, making his eyebrows furrow. He looks up, eyeing those around him, and then his focus finds me. It’s an expression of confusion, as if he’s trying to put together the pieces of a strange riddle.

He doesn’t know me. And yet, he feels as though he does.

Grey Wind shifts in front of me, a low howl escaping through slightly opened jaws. Robb locks eyes with him and something visibly changes. His face turns to stone, a haze lifting from his eyes. As slow as a drifting ship, Robb touches the scar around his neck. His eyes glisten with tears but his face remains hard. Then, before I can react, Grey Wind charges at him through the crowd, a heartbreaking howl causing many to turn towards the ruckus and jump out of the wolf’s way.

Robb comes out of his stand and falls to his knees, embracing his forever lost friend. His face lights up in a way that breaks my heart. It’s the face of someone who has lost everything, just to realize he has one thing left. One thing that shows him he’s not as alone as he believed he was. The disbelief overcoming him is almost too much as Grey Wind licks the tears off his master’s face. Then, as Grey Wind nuzzles into his stomach, Robb finds me in the crowd again. His smile fades into a grim line.

I realize I haven’t moved, too dazed by the scene playing out in front of me. Someone bumps roughly into my arm, causing me to break my stare. By the time I gather my bearings, Robb is leading Grey Wind into the cracked, grey building, barely glancing over his shoulder in the process.

I will my feet to move. I can’t lose him. Either of them. Not now. Not when I’ve come so far. After all the unspeakable things I’ve done.

After what I did to Jallen.

I move with haste ducking under a rope before reaching the closed door. As I ease the door open, I quickly take in the surroundings as I’ve been trained. The place appears to be abandoned, used for storing merchant goods while the marketplace is open and busy. There are empty crates as well as barrels with half-full unperishable goods. Then I see Grey Wind sitting in the far center and all I can think about is finding Robb.

That’s how he gets the jump on me so easily.

He pushes me roughly against the stone wall behind me, brandishing a blade at my throat. My first instinct is to bring to my elbow to his chin and disarm him, but all I can do is look into his stunning blue eyes. The eyes I never thought I’d get to see again.

“Why are you here?” Robb growls, pressing the blade firmly against my skin. “What do you want?”

I can’t speak. There’s so much hatred for me, so much anger, but all I can do is thank all the gods in existence that he’s truly here in front of me. If I die now by his hand, I would not change a single moment leading up to it.

“Did they send you to kill me?” he demands. “You’re awfully far from home, Lady Lysandra.” The last words are laced with venom.

“N-No,” I manage to say. “How are you- you’re here. You’re…”

“Alive?” he finishes. He shakes his head. “You answer my questions first or I swear on the stolen lives of my family, I will kill you where you stand.”

The hurt in his eyes is raw. I think back to the Red Wedding and my worries of Robb believing I was somehow involved. But he couldn’t think that, could he? After our time together, would he still believe me capable of such cruelty?

“I came to Essos with Tyrion,” I say. Robb’s jaw clenches and I quickly continue. “He’s not here. We went our separate ways in Pentos. He’s a fugitive of King’s Landing. I came to Braavos to… to seek help. And to find you. I had these… visions that you were alive. That’s why I’m here.”

He narrows his eyes. “Visions? I’m supposed to believe you came here based on some witchcraft you’ve attained? Where is Tyrion, really? Is he stationed somewhere with the Lannister army? Waiting for you to draw me out so they can make sure I stay dead this time?”

“No!” I hiss, squeezing the arm restraining me. “Tyrion ran away to Pentos because he’s been accused of killing King Joffrey. I went to free him but he was already loose. He… he killed Tywin, Robb. He begged me to come with him so I could be free too. There is no love for either of us back home. We’ll never be able to return. Please, I’m speaking the truth.”

Hesitation plagues his face.

“Joffrey and Tywin,” he says slowly. “They’ve been killed?”

I nod. “Someone poisoned Joffrey at his wedding. I don’t know who, but it wasn’t Tyrion.”

“And Tyrion killed your father?”

“Yes,” I say, studying his reaction. “But you already knew that. There have been whisperings all over the city. The Braavosi are never in the dark for long.”

He says nothing and I know I’m right. He’s searching for the truth.

“After I returned home,” I say. “I began having these strange visions. I was hearing voices. I saw Grey Wind,” I nod to the direwolf. “I could touch him and yet no one could see him. I thought I was going mad. And then I saw you, over and over again. The voices told me to go to Braavos. I’ve been at the House of Black and White training, trying to find you, trying to find out if you were truly alive. The Faceless Men told me I have this ‘gift’ that I’m supposed to use to help the future of Westeros. That’s all I know.”

Robb considers me, but he doesn’t lower the blade. He loosens his grip only slightly, his face still rigid.

“I woke in the temple you described,” he says. “The men there fed me, helped me regain my strength. I couldn’t remember who I was or what happened in my past, not for the first 11 days. When I finally did, it was like dying all over again. Seeing my pregnant wife stabbed right in front of me, dead in my arms. The massacre that _your_ family caused.”

He pushes the knife far enough for a small stream of blood to trickle down my neck. I close my eyes, waiting for the end to come.

“Words will never be enough to tell you how sorry I am,” I say softly. “But Tywin was the only Lannister who knew before the attack on your family. I swear it. He was the one who planned it and… and I wish I had been the one to kill him.”

The blade begins to press further in, shaking under Robb’s wavering hand, and then the pressure is gone all together. I open my eyes to see Robb wiping the blood from his weapon and sticking it back in its hidden sheath. That’s when I see Grey Wind is now at my side, eyes pleading, looking between the two of us before staring once again at his master.

Robb looks at me again, less hostile but still filled with disdain. He nods towards Grey Wind.

“You brought him to me,” he says. “He wouldn’t have let you live if he didn’t trust you. Thought he was lost to me forever too.”

I gently pet Grey Wind’s head for a moment.

“I’d say he led me to you,” I say. “But what I don’t understand is… how has no one found you yet? How has the word of the Young Wolf’s return not yet spread?”

Robb looks out the window. “I doubt many of these people would know my face. But the Faceless Men told me some nonsense about some magic at work. The God of Death protecting my identity as long as I stay in Braavos. Before my _journey_ to help pave the future path of the Seven Kingdoms.” He scoffs at the last part, shaking his head. “The dead beyond the Wall? It’s a ghost story.”

“You can’t be serious,” I say, my strength returning. “You being brought back can’t be a coincidence. Me seeing you in my visions _can’t_ be a coincidence. I know that this talk of saving the realms is strange, ridiculous even, but you can’t just write off that this all isn’t happening for a reason. Robb, we _have_ to go back to Westeros.”

He whirls on me, glaring. “Back to Westeros? And revisit my failures? My family is dead. I led my men to slaughter. Everyone that I ever cared for is dead. My father, executed by your nephew’s orders. I lured my wife, my child, my mother, perhaps even my sisters to their deaths. My brothers… Why should I return to that hateful place? Even with Joffrey and Tywin gone, the Lannisters will still run the kingdoms into the ground. Winterfell has been taken. I have nothing. Here, no one knows me. I’m Keat of Braavos here. I’m alone and this is where I’ll remain until the end of my days.”

Grey Wind whines, pushing against Robb’s slack hand. He sighs.

“Apologies, friend. I do have you.”

“And you don’t know that he’s all you have,” I snap. “You’re basing your claim on assumptions alone. Sansa slipped away after Joffrey was poisoned. Arya hasn’t been seen since your father was executed. You don’t know they’re dead. They still need you, Robb. And your brothers may still be alive.”

Robb looks at me doubtfully. “And you’re basing _your_ claim on assumptions. Even if I believed you, Arya and Sansa could’ve-” But I hold up a hand.

“Just… let me try this.”

He narrows his eyes, backing away when I move toward him.

“What are you doing?”

“One of the Faceless Men, Rewan, has been training me,” I say. “He’s been helping me with my visions. Perhaps if I concentrate, I can try to find the rest of your family.”

His jaw clenches. “I don’t want nor do I need the help of your witchcraft.”

“I’m not a witch,” I snap. “Do you really not trust me? Not even a small part of you? Have you completely forgotten the time we spent together? All of it?”

Robb opens his mouth, then closes it. The smallest ripple of softness comes across his eyes.

“That was a long time ago,” he says.

“Yes, and my family has hurt you beyond anything I could ever imagine,” I say. “I know this. But _I_ have not hurt you. Please, allow me to give you even the slightest chance of solace. If you still wish to kill me or never see me again, I won’t fight you. Just let me _try_.”

After a long pause, Robb finally nods.

I take a deep breath and approach him.

“I have to touch you,” I say, showing him my empty hands. He nods once, avoiding my eyes.

I lay my hands on his arms and close my eyes. I know I won’t be able to see much, especially if the Many-Faced God does not warrant it, but I may be able to get a glimpse and that’s all I’ll need. I focus on Robb, on his family. I begin to see flashes of his past. Archery with his brothers, his goodbye to Jon Snow, reuniting with his mother, the capture of Jaime, the first time he saw me, Theon’s betrayal, and the quick memories keep coming. It’s as if I’m looking into a haze. The images are blurry, barely clear enough for me to see. Then I shift the focus onto those closest to him. Catelyn. Ned. Jon. Bran. Rickon. Sansa. Arya. Talisa. Even Theon. It feels like a flood against my eyes, but I keep pushing. I have to see. I need to know who still lives.

And then I see them, so quickly I almost miss it but I see them. One by one, I see who remains of Robb’s family. Though dire as I feel their situations are, they are very much alive.

I gasp as I’m forced to return, the strain becoming too much. I know I haven’t trained long enough. My body will need to recuperate soon. I quickly let go of Robb’s arms and stagger back, clutching my chest as I regain my breath.

“Lysandra?”

I look up to meet his worried gaze, he reaches out for me but stops himself.

“Jon.” I say. “Sansa. Arya. Bran.”

At my words, he looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

“What?”

“Jon. Sansa. Arya. Bran,” I repeat between heavy breaths. “They’re alive. I felt it. I swear to you, this very moment, they’re alive, Robb.”

I can tell he doesn’t want to believe me. The conflicting look in his eyes give it away, but a few tears escape. He brushes them away quickly.

“How can you be so sure?” he demands.

“I don’t have full control,” I admit. “But my visions don’t lie. Jon and Sansa are in Winterfell. I couldn’t see the others.”

“Winterfell?” he huffs in disbelief. “But Jon was sent to the Wall. And how did Sansa… You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“What if the Boltons are holding them hostage?”

“Then we’ll fight.”

“And what if you’re wrong about all of this?”

“What if I’m not?” I challenge. “What if you can go home? From the time I met you that’s all you’ve ever wanted. I can obtain a ship, a crew I can trust, I have protection. I can grant you safe passage where you need to go. You don’t belong here in Braavos, Robb. You and Grey Wind belong at your home. In Winterfell.”

He looks longingly at Grey Wind for several moments. Briefly, I can feel the emotion through him. The memories he’s thinking of. The possible future he could have back in Westeros. His features soften greatly, then he takes a breath.

“I’m not going back, Lysandra.” He wipes his face. “I can’t.”

I look at him incredulously. “Why not?”

Just like that, his face hardens once again.

“I don’t belong there anymore,” he says. “This is who I am now.”

I can’t find the words to say as he rips off a piece of cloth and dunks it in a barrel of water. He brings it over and hands it to me, gesturing to my neck.

“I’m sorry about the cut,” he says. “I have to get back to work.”

Without so much as a glance, he walks out the door with Grey Wind close behind. The door shuts and I feel my heart shatter. I’m not sure what I was expecting, of course he wouldn’t be ready to go back. Yes, the Red Wedding seems long ago now, but it is still such a present horror on his mind. I don’t know if anyone can recover from something like this.

I gently wipe the blood away with the cloth, holding it steady to stop any further bleeding. It’s a tiny cut, just a scratch. It will heal rather quickly. I’ll return to the House of Black and White and continue my training. Then I will leave for Westeros as I am meant to. Even if it is without the Young Wolf.

I toss the cloth to the side and head out the door. Seeing Robb again makes my heart stop all over again. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look at him as if he’s not a ghost, no longer a ploy of my imagination. He doesn’t look at me as I start to walk by, but then I stop beside him. Grey Wind looks at me expectantly near his master’s stand.

“I know you’re scared,” I say. He keeps his eyes on his work. “I can’t begin to understand how this is affecting you. But you have people who love you. People who still believe you’re dead. Even if you don’t want anything to do with the war ahead of us, they deserve to know the truth. Because regardless of what you believe, when you died, a piece of me died with you. I can only imagine how it’s affected your family. Don’t let your fear keep you from them.”

He still won’t look at me and he doesn’t reply, but I can see the way the muscle in his jaw twitches. The way he holds the crate just a little bit tighter.

“I won’t come back here again,” I say. “I’ve decided to train for a few more days. On the fourth morning from this day, while the fog is still heavy on the harbor, I’ll be leaving for Westeros. There will be a boat waiting for me at the House of Black and White.” I lean down to pet Grey Wind one last time. I lower my voice so only they can hear.

“Farewell, Robb Stark of Winterfell.”

Then I disappear into the crowd.

**3 Days Later**

“You’re not ready to leave,” Rewan says. “Not yet.”

I break my meditation to cast him a look.

“You know as well as I, we are running out of time.” I sigh. “Whatever is ahead for Westeros, it’s coming fast. If I have any part to play as you insist I do, I have to head back. The sooner the better. I have to trust the Sight to see me through.”

Rewan takes a steady breath. “If you could harness your visions-”

“I can harness enough,” I insist. “It’s time, Rewan. You’ve been a great mentor to me. I may even call you a friend on days I feel generous. If it were up to you, I don’t believe I’d ever leave.”

He smiles slightly. “You’re still angry with me. For your last mission.”

I’m careful not to show any reaction to the claim.

“Of course not,” I say smoothly. “You were merely preparing me for the sacrifices I may face ahead.”

He nods. “You’ve mastered the art of deceit, Lady Lysandra. I assume that’s what you desire to be called?”

“Just Lysandra,” I say. “And though I may not entirely _be_ her anymore, I do wear her face. I share her past. I will never not be Lysandra Lannister. But I will also never not be ‘no one’.”

Rewan considers me a moment before getting to his feet. I move to do the same but he casts a hand out to stop me. He walks to the corner of my room and dismounts a loose stone hidden in the wall. He takes out a bundle and places it in front of me, taking a seat once again. I look at him, confused. He motions for me to open it. When I do, I nearly lose my breath.

There, underneath the worn cloth, are the items I threw into the sea. The sheath Jaime had Stalia made for me, the clothes Stalia gifted me, the mysterious coin, and…

My heart threatens to twist in eternal anguish.

The ship Mateo carved for me.

I notice Rewan studying me closely.

“How is this possible?” I ask. “How are all these things here?”

“Some questions are better left unanswered,” he replies. He nods to another corner of the room. “I believe you’ll find that sword suitable for your needs. I know you’ve become rather taken with it.”

I follow his gaze to the familiar light, yet thick blade with a black and purple hilt. It has been my weapon of choice during sparring sessions. Jaime once told me that all the great swords have names. I have yet to choose one for this, as it has never been solely my own.

But my focus remains on the carving in my hand. The confliction of my choices. The hatred I feel for completing my last task and becoming ‘no one’.

I hold up the ship to him. “The truth of the matter is, I could’ve told you no. I could have refused. The little boy who made this, the little boy who _trusted_ me, would still have a father. In the end, I have no one to blame but myself. I have no choice but to live with it.”

Rewan takes the ship from my hold and places it back with the other items.

“The sacrifices we make are always necessary, Lysandra,” he says. “Without sacrifice, there would be no justice. No one to protect the ones who cannot protect themselves. One day, you will understand that everything you have done in the name of the Many-Faced God has been necessary for the prosperity of life.”

He stands up to leave, then turns back at the doorway.

“Your ship will be waiting for you at first light,” Rewan says. “Sail when you’re ready, but don’t wait for him too long. He has made his choice.”

“Who?”

He looks at me knowingly. “The man who has your heart.”

I narrow my eyes. “My heart is my own.”

I feel that he’s going to say something more on the subject, but instead he lets it go.

“The dangers do not pertain only to the darkness beyond the Wall,” Rewan says. “You’ve heard of the victories of the Dragon Queen, daughter of the Mad King. In the end, wolves and dragons may fight to rule us all.”

I furrow my brows. “Are you suggesting she will become the mad tyrant that her father was?”

He shrugs. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. The worlds are shaped or crushed under our choices. Jallen’s sacrifice will not be the only hardship you will face.”

And then he’s gone. 

***

I rise with the sun and ready the final preparations for the journey ahead. As Rewan said, my crew is ready to depart on my command at first light. I’m dressed in the lavender outfit Stalia had made for me. I arrived in it, it’s only fitting that I depart Braavos wearing it. The embroidered sheath rests on my side, holding my gifted sword in its place. It feels right, like a missing piece has finally found its place. I put the rest of the items Rewan returned to me in a satchel, including Mateo’s ship. Despite the horror I’ve committed, I can’t bear to be rid of it.

I look for Rewan to say goodbye, but he’s disappeared. It’s for the best. I feel that we said everything we needed to say the night before. Everything is loaded onto the ship, including my belongings. I leave my stone room for the last time, and take a last long look around the temple. A few outsiders have come to pray silently near the pool in the center. I take in the statues of the many deities surrounded the hall, my focus falling on the Lord of Light; a heart encompassed in flames. I feel drawn to it for a moment, but it passes rather quickly. I get that pull from time to time. Rewan has said it’s because of the Many-Faced God’s connection to all the other gods, and his connection to me.

I hesitate at the door, looking around. I fought so hard to get here, hurt so many people along the way, and I can’t even say if it was worth it. Maybe I’ll never be able to decide that. It can’t be dwelt on now, anyway. Not when I have a part to play in Westeros still. If the dead are rising as Rewan hinted, the North will need all the help they can get.

I close the door behind me and descend the steps. The small ship is docked nearby. The fog hangs freshly in the air, accompanied by a crisp light wind. The Captain raises his hand in greeting. Harrion is his name, a trusted ally of the Faceless Men. I nod to him as I get closer.

“All set, Captain?” I ask.

“Whenever you’re ready, my Lady,” he replies.

I wave him off. “‘Lysandra’ will do just fine. Not sure I’m really a Lady of anything anymore.”

He bows slightly. “As you wish. We’re free to set sail at your command.”

I stop near the ship, looking towards the temple and beyond. My heart sinks and I let out a heavy breath. I suppose this journey of mine will have to be alone once again. I knew it was silly to get my hopes up, but a small part of me hoped he would come. He belongs in Winterfell with his family, but I understand his reasons for staying. I just… didn’t expect to say goodbye so soon.

“Waiting for any more?” Harrion asks.

I turn to him. “I suppose not.”

He offers me a hand and I accept it. I step one foot onto the side and hoist myself onto the main deck, grabbing a rope in my other hand for balance. I thank the Captain and rub my arms gingerly, the nip in the air growing more bitter.

“It’ll be awfully cold where you’re headin’,” Harrion says. “It’s a good thing you brought furs.”

I look at him. “Did Rewan tell you to load furs? I have but a few blankets to keep out the cold.”

He shakes his head. “Your companion was quite persistent. I reckon you have enough to keep the bitterness of the North out of your bones.”

“Furs?” I furrow my eyebrows.

“Aye,” Harrion says. “Not sure how that wolf is going to fair on the sea. Not sure even what it eats.” He shudders a little at this.

“It’s a direwolf,” another stronger voice says. I nearly fall overboard as Robb ascends from the lower deck. “He’ll eat whatever you can spare. Though, what I’ve brought should be plenty.”

I blink a few times, trying to make sure I’m not going mad or seeing another mirage. Robb looks at me, an eyebrow raised.

“You were really going to sail North without furs?” he asks, almost incredulously.

I realize I’ve been gripping the railing too tightly, sending an ache through my fingers when I finally release it.

“You’re here,” I say, maintaining composure. “And where’s Grey Wind?”

Robb looks briefly to the stairs. “Figured everyone would be more comfortable if he stayed below deck for a little while. He’s resting.”

I nod. A heavy silence falls between us and it becomes outlandishly clear how uncomfortable Harrion has become. He shifts a little before clearing his throat.

“Time to set sail, then?” he addresses me.

“Please.” I nod.

Captain Harrion instantly shouts out orders to the crew and everyone gets to work. I head towards the front of the boat, partly because I want to see the Titan of Braavos as we sail through the canals. It may be the last time I see the great wonder. But mostly it’s because I need to do something, anything, than stand dumbstruck in front of Robb Stark.

However, Robb follows me and stands quietly beside me as the boat begins to move. It’s oddly comforting, in a sense. Just his presence is enough to make me feel a little less alone in all this.

Then, as quiet as the water lapping the nearby dock, I hear father’s song. It remains mostly silent, but I still can’t help but look around, trying to find the source of it. When I explained the music to Rewan, he warned me it’s a sign of death that has been, and death that has still come to pass. It rings true, as I’ve only heard the music when it’s surrounded by death. And here I am, beside the late King in the North, who has already suffered the tragedy of death itself.

“What is it?” Robb asks.

I look to him briefly before keeping my eyes on the Titan ahead.

“The Rains of Castamere,” I say. “My father’s song. I hear it sometimes. It’s a part of this Sight I have, I suppose.”

I feel my heart thud against my chest as I wait for his response.

“Apologies,” I quickly say. “I didn’t mean to… I don’t _want_ to hear it. I just do.”

I glance at Robb but his face is stoic.

“What does it mean?” he asks. “When you hear it.”

I look at him again, lacing my fingers together in front of me.

“Death.”

He looks at me then, and there’s a look of recognition in his eyes.

“And this ‘Sight’ was… _is_ connected to my death,” he says. “To me. You starting seeing these visions after my death.”

I nod.

He sighs heavily, his eyes lit with grief and wonder.

I clear my throat. “We’ll be docking outside of Ramsgate. Far enough away to avoid detection. At least for a little while. We’ll be sailing for about seven days, possibly longer.”

“Ramsgate has been loyal to the Starks,” Robb says. “Though, I’m sure much has changed since… Anyway, we have no way of knowing how much damage the Boltons caused in the North. We don’t know who we can trust, whether or not Jon and Sansa are prisoners, assuming your vision holds truth.”

“And we won’t know how the North will receive your return,” I add. “Whether they be allies or enemies. I doubt they’ve seen anything like this before.”

Robb shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’d believe it either. Even if they do, I can’t see them welcoming me. Not after the turmoil I left them all in. The choices I made that caused their downfall.” He runs his hands over his face. “Even if the North is safe from tyranny, I’m not welcome there.”

“What happened to you and your family was unforgivable,” I say firmly. “The North remembers, Robb. They’ll never forget what happened. The villains and murderers will be run into the ground, no matter how long it takes. I’ve heard the stories about the Northerners. They’re fierce and loyal. I saw it first-hand in your camp. They will _not_ turn you away. Even if you’re no longer their King, you are _still_ a Stark of Winterfell.” 

Though I know they won’t hesitate to dispose of a Lannister.

Robb is quiet for a moment.

“Perhaps,” he says, keeping his eyes on horizon.

I think back to the last time I saw Jaime. The pleading look in Tyrion’s eyes when he begged me to come with him.

“Love is always worth the sacrifice,” I say.

He looks at me curiously.

“I hope you’re right, Lady Lysandra.”

“Please, I’m not a-”

“You are,” he says. The smallest hint of a smile on his lips. “You don’t stop being a Lady simply because you don’t like the noble name that comes with it.”

I grimace. “Maybe it would be better to just be ‘no one’ for a while.”

“No one?”

“We have much to discuss, my Lord.”


	13. Night Sky

That night, I toss and turn in my bed on the lower deck. I was warned my dreams would be more restless when I left the temple. I’d be free of the tranquility the atmosphere had to offer. I hoped the waves would soothe me but I’ve had no such luck. I see flashes of the Red Wedding behind my closed eyelids. I see Tyrion murdering our father with a crossbow. I see Oberyn Martell’s head being crushed by the Mountain. I see Joffrey choking, his face turning a ghastly purple. I see the men who violated me forcing me to keep quiet. I see Walder Frey laughing as his sons beat me during my time at the Twins. I see Jallen’s corpse as I hide his body from prying eyes.

I sit up quickly, cradling my head in my hands. I was able to keep my mind clear at the temple, when I was so focused on becoming ‘no one’. When I was focused on becoming anyone but Lysandra Lannister. The memory reminds me of the other satchel I brought with me. The satchel I keep well hidden away from my other belongings. Rewan’s last parting gift; a group of faces. Faces of the undead.

The last part of my training was focused on being able to become ‘anyone’. To wear the faces of others; to acquire their voice, their mannerisms. A mixture of strange magic and unnatural skill I’ll never be able to understand. But this is who I am now. I am a part of the Guild of the Faceless Men, however disjointed from the cause I may be. I promised myself I wouldn’t use the faces unless I absolutely had to.

I let my eyes adjust to the darkness and listen to the sounds of the few crew members taking their turn of sleep on the deck above. I hear the sloshing of the water against the ship and steady myself against the rocking as I stand. I grab the blanket from my bed and wrap it around my nightwear. Perhaps some fresh air will ease my thoughts. I step out of my small room and carefully make my way past the others. No sense in waking anyone if I don’t have to.

I make my way up the steps and nod to the few crew members that are still up, guiding the ship under the stars. It’s colder than I anticipated, but the heavy blanket keeps the chill from my bones. After the nightmares I’ve had this night, the cold wind feels welcomed upon my face. The ship creaks from the shifting of the waves beneath it, bringing a sense of calm over me. Perhaps it would be easier to sleep up here the next night. I feel so alone in my room despite the small size.

I see a dark silhouette standing on the quarterdeck, opposite of the stern. At first, I think it’s a crew member taking a break to admire the view, but then I see the large figure sitting beside him. Grey Wind. I have half a mind to go below deck once again and leave him to his thoughts, but the thought of being alone again so soon makes me shiver. Instead, I decide to move to the opposite side of the ship.

Then, as if someone tapped him on the shoulder, Robb turns slightly in my direction, then fully when he spots me. He holds a few fingers up in greeting and I nod sheepishly, as though I’ve been caught staring. He motions for me to join him before turning back to the sea.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks when I approach.

I shake my head.

“Dreams?”

I nod.

“Myself as well.”

I lean my torso against the railing, holding my blanket in place.

“Not a lover of the cold?” he muses.

“I’ve been in summer most of my life,” I say. “Aside from my time at the Twins, it’s all I’ve ever known.”

I want to crush my vocal chords at my stupidity. Why must I remind him of the darkest period of his life? Why must I speak before I think better of it?

But if it causes him pain, he does an impressive job of hiding it.

“You never did tell me what happened to you there,” he finally says.

I look at him, surprised at the mention of any of our time there.

He glances at me before keeping his gaze in front of him.

“Despite my hostility,” Robb says. “I’m well aware of your kindness towards me in the brief time we journeyed together. I saw the hurt in your eyes when I accused you of betrayal.”

“You have every right to mistrust me.”

He turns to me now and shakes his head briefly.

“No, I don’t.”

I hold his gaze for longer than I mean to, captivated by the brightness of his blue eyes even in the moonlight. It’s still as if I’m taking in the sight of a ghost, wandering around the corners of my troubled mind.

“You said a piece of you died when I was killed,” he says.

I look elsewhere, anywhere but him. I settle on the moon in the distant sky.

“You mourned me.”

I nod once and try to keep my voice steady. “I did.”

I think he means to touch me but keeps his hands at his sides. When he speaks again, his voice is softer than before.

“I’m sorry I was cold to you,” he says. “Truly.”

I shake my head. “Don’t be.” I glance at him. “You must be hurting so fiercely. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through. You don’t ever have to apologize to me. If you want to make it up to me, you can allow me to assist you in getting home.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “And what then? Say we get there unscathed and you’re right. My brother and sister are there and in good health. Say I’m welcomed home. What will you do?”

Truth be told, I haven’t thought much about the answer to this. Where I will go after Winterfell hasn’t been much of a concern, it’s getting there in the first place. Even if I’m meant for something larger at play, none of it will matter if Robb Stark doesn’t return home. That must be my priority, even if the Northerners insist on executing me after the shock wears down.

“I don’t know,” I say. “If the North lets me live, I suppose I’ll go wherever the Sight leads me.”

Robb furrows his brows. “I doubt any of them will recognize your face, Lady Lysandra. Surely your last name can remain unknown.”

“I won’t lie to spare my skin,” I say. “Besides, the truth has a habit of making itself known whether you warrant it to or not. Lies will only cause more strife.”

“I will vouch for you,” he says. “The North will hear me.”

But even his kind eyes can’t conceal the doubt that resides there. The North will pay no kindness to the likes of Lannisters, regardless of their individual involvement in the fall of their cities. If the Red Wedding proved anything, it’s that where Lannisters are concerned, death and destruction soon follow.

“What matters is your family and getting you to them,” I say. “The rest will work itself out the way it needs to.”

A peaceful silence washes over us, causing the crashing of waves to echo around us. Robb sighs, content with the cold wind on his skin. He looks up at the sky, briefly closing his eyes as if drinking it in star by star.

“Since I was a child, I’ve always loved the night sky. It’s a promise that there will be a tomorrow. That one can start over and make anew.”

“It is very peaceful.”

“It’s the only time you can see the beauty of the stars,” he says. “It’s truly a marvel.”

I remain silent beside him, waiting patiently for him to continue the remainder of his thoughts.

“I had many sleepless nights in my days of battle,” he says. “But this,” he opens his eyes. “this was always here. With memories of father telling me stories of his time in the war. Of mother, assuring me I had nothing to fear of my nightmares. Arya used to point out the arrangements of the stars constantly.”

He smiles at the memory.

“It’s strange,” he says. “But sometimes it feels as if it’s all I have left. The stars… and memories.”

Before I can stop myself, I take his hand. His eyes glance at our joining hands before looking at me, just as surprised as I am.

“That is not all you have,” I say. “You still have family out there. We will find them.”

He looks down as his eyes begin to glisten. He watches my fingers curl a little tighter around his in reassurance.

“We,” he says as if confused by the word.

I can’t tell if he’s offended by the use. I hadn’t chosen my words carefully. Our newfound friendship always seemed so fragile, even back then. I don’t suppose you could even call us anything but uneasy allies at this point.

I go to move my hand but he holds it close to him. I search for words to say, but they abandon me.

“A wolf and a lion,” he says quietly, studying my careful hand.

I clear my throat a bit. “You know, they don’t make an awful team. At least, when they’re not fighting each other. Both fierce, courageous, and stubborn.”

He smiles at the last bit and my shoulders fall in relief at the sight.

“Perhaps it’s not the worst pair,” he says, meeting my eyes.

I take a deep breath at the strength of his gaze. It’s strange how a blue pair of eyes can hold so many different shades and emotions. They hold the cold of Winterfell and the sadness of lost loved ones. It’s made my heart ache for more reasons than one.

I remove my hand from his and face him entirely. I leave his gaze before gathering up the courage to meet it and say what I must. He waits, his eyes expectant.

“I can never be sorry enough for what my family has done to yours,” I say. “But know that I’ve never had a hand in it. Nor will I until my dying breath.”

Robb considers me for a moment, as if studying someone he’s only just met. There’s only slight hesitation before speaks. His expression is solemn and tired.

“Is that your vow to me?”

I gradually remove the blanket, sending a harsh chill through my body. I hand it to him and he takes it, confusion on his features.

I slowly remove my sword from its sheathe, careful not to startle Grey Wind. I allow it to glisten in the moonlight, raised high, before I gently press the blade into the floor and kneel. I raise my chin a bit higher, straightening my posture.

“My vow is this: I, Lady Lysandra of House Lannister, swear fealty to you, Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell. I will spend the rest of my days atoning for my family’s sins. I will bring no harm to you or those you love. By my heart and my sword, I will not rest until you are reunited with your home and your family. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

Robb is silent for a long while, looking at me in wonder. The slight frown on his face shows me he’s momentarily conflicted and deeply moved. He gathers himself, taking a breath and blinking out of his daze. Grey Wind stands at attention at his side.

“Rise,” Robb says, his voice firm.

I do.

“You will not be looked upon for the sins of your family,” he says. “Never by me. You have my trust and my gratitude, from this day until my last. No harm with come to you by my hand, lest I break every vow I’ve ever made. You have my protection, now and always.”

And by the look in his eyes, I believe every word he speaks.

***

The days at sea go by slowly and Grey Wind has grown increasingly restless, making the crew more weary than normal. Robb keeps him fed and the direwolf follows all of his orders without hesitation which is the only reason why I’m not worried. He stays attached to his master’s hip at all times, from day until night. I think it brings Robb more peace than I could’ve realized. Although he holds his tongue regarding the past, he’s begun to open up to me about how he came to be among the living again. As I suspected, it all comes back to the mysterious Faceless Men and the House of Black and White.

From what Robb could gather, the Faceless Men resurrected his corpse in the name of the Many-Faced God, though he could also remember them speaking of the Lord of Light. Rewan once told me the Many-Faced God is the only god in existence, and therefore takes many names, including the Lord of Light. I told Robb this, though I’m not certain if he believed Rewan’s claim. He told me they sewed his head back onto his body, a grizzly affair, and used their ritualistic ways to heal him and bring him back to the living realm.

For nearly a fortnight, Robb was weak of mind and body. He couldn’t remember his past life or his own name, let alone any of his loved ones. The Faceless Men helped him to regain consciousness and nourished him back to health with what he feels was a sort of strange magic. He found his strength returning, the memory of his painful past, the clashing of swords. They helped him heal; deal with the tragedy of losing his wife and unborn child, his mother, even though he fought them with every step.

It seems that he was resurrected soon after the Red Wedding and has been living in Braavos ever since. When the Faceless Men began talking of a new path and destiny he must discover, Robb would have none of it and decided to leave the House of Black and White. He believed he was the last Stark left and even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t face the turmoil he believed he left in his family’s, and his people’s, wake.

“When I saw you,” Robb said. “I didn’t know you. You looked so different from when I saw you last. My memories had been so hazy for so long, I almost thought I was hallucinating. When I saw Grey Wind beside you, it was the clearest my mind has been in a long time. I remembered every memory, every feeling, every face. Everything seemed to fit and in that moment I wasn’t sure who I could trust but he.”

In a strange way, I feel more connected to him that ever before. I know what it’s like to see things that no one else can, to feel things no one else can. I know what it’s like to feel completely alone with no one to trust but yourself. I know what it’s like to believe you’re going mad.

On the fourth night on the ship, the two of us sit on the main deck with Grey Wind sleeping soundly beside us. The crew works through the night, paying us no mind as we take in the sight of the stars and moon illuminating the sea. Most nights, we mainly sit together in silence, finding any peace we can from the nightmares that await us in sleep. When I’m with Robb, they seem so far away. Even being near him seems to keep the shadows at bay. Shadows much darker than I.

“What makes you so certain Tyrion didn’t kill Joffrey?” Robb asks, breaking the long silence.

I take a moment to consider the question. A flash of Shae’s murdered corpse lying on the bed flashes in my mind. The sound of father’s dying breath after Tyrion shot him with a crossbow. The pleading in his eyes when he begged me to leave King’s Landing. The kindness he showed me when I thought I was going mad.

“Despite what you think of my brother,” I say. “Tyrion would never have killed his own nephew. No matter how much he despised him. And even if he decided to murder him, it would not be poison, and it wouldn’t be at his wedding with a room full of witnesses. Tyrion was Joffrey’s cupbearer at the time of the poisoning. He would never be so sloppy. There was talk of Sansa having a hand in it, but I nor Tyrion believed it was so.”

He grimaces. “A part of me wishes Sansa had done the deed. I wish I had done it myself.” He turns to me. “Did he suffer?”

I nod. “I’ve never seen a poison so vile.”

“Good.” He nods. “I suppose I should thank Tyrion if we ever meet again. Getting rid of your father brings me solace, though it changes nothing.”

He looks to Grey Wind, petting him softly as he sleeps. He doesn’t offer me an apology, nor condolences for my father, and I don’t expect him to. After everything Tywin did, it is fitting he should be laid down with the lives he’s destroyed. Though, it doesn’t change the sorrow I feel when I think of the man he used to be during my childhood, the man he could’ve been had his heart not become ice.

Robb drinks from his ale and motions to my nearly full cup, raising an eyebrow.

“Drinking slows the mind,” I say. “If training taught me anything, it’s that one must be alert at all times.”

He gestures to the boat. “I doubt we’ll be under duress this night, my Lady.” When my expression doesn’t change, he shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

I pull my blanket tighter to my chest and close my eyes, drinking in the sounds of the nightlife. I’m starting to become accustomed to the cold chill in the air. It’s comforting. It means we’re on the right path.

“My mother used to sing to me when I was a boy,” Robb says. I open my eyes to see him looking out at the stars. “It used to bring me comfort. Father used to say her voice could chase the dark creatures from my dreams. I believed him fully.”

I smile softly.

He leans against a post, keeping his eyes upward. It’s as if he’s looking for them, his parents, in the blanket of dark.

“I remember hearing you sing,” he says. “In your tent, when you thought you were alone.”

The look of surprise must be strong on my face because when he looks over at me, he smiles.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he says sheepishly. “I heard you a few times when I was making my rounds through the camp. I never told you because I was afraid you would stop. I didn’t recognize the songs, but I enjoyed them nonetheless.”

I look away from him, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The truth was, song brought me comfort as well when times seemed lonely and dark. They were mainly songs of the South that I learned from my mother. She loved music.

“I only remember one about the North,” I say quietly. “Most of the songs I know came from my youth at Casterly Rock.”

I can feel Robb’s eyes on me, but I keep my own on the glowing moon ahead. I close my eyes, trying to remember the words that were taught to me. Softly, I sing:

_Here in my shadow_

_Here in my love_

_Here in the cold I live on._

_When the wind blows_

_And the winter finds home_

_Here in the cold’s where I roam._

_Here in the cold I find home._

I take a breath and open my eyes.

“One of the maesters taught me that one,” I say. “I don’t remember all of it, but I think it’s about-”

“Grief,” we say in unison.

I look to Robb. His eyes are bright with emotion. He looks more like a lost soul now than ever before.

I nod. “In the North.”

“I remember that one,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Grief, and finally returning home.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t heard it since I was a boy.”

We fall into a silence once more, remaining that way for quite some time. Once again, I find myself wishing I could bring him solace. But I know that this, this journey, is the only way I can even begin to atone for what has been done to the Starks. To Robb.

This is only the beginning for me. This atonement for the Lannister’s sins doesn’t stop with the Starks. I have my own wounds I’ve inflicted that will never be healed. I’ll live with Jallen’s death my entire life. I’ll live with the fact that other than him, I don’t regret a single kill in the name of the Many-Faced God. I’ll live with myself, this person I no longer recognize, for I am not entirely Lysandra and yet I will never be anyone else, not even ‘no one’ as Rewan had hoped. I have too much grief, too much regret, though I hide it as well as any assassin can you might say. I’ll take many more lives yet that I will not grieve in the battles ahead, and what does that say of me? Does it make me a warrior? An assassin of a mysterious god? A traitor of humanity? Perhaps all of them combined. Perhaps something worse.

Little Mateo, forever wondering who murdered his father and for what purpose. His mother, Jallen’s wife, whom I never had the chance to meet. Countless relatives grieving for their lost one. To what end? To bring myself answers I still don’t have? To bring Robb Stark to his home in Winterfell? To assist in the battle coming against the North? Against Westeros?

Whatever good I do for the kingdoms, for the realm, a part of me knows it matters not. Jallen will still be dead, Mateo still fatherless. I’ll forever be a murderer. A wanderer, never knowing a true home. It’s as if this Sight of mine agrees with me, for it brings me no comfort.

And yet, I know that without the sacrifice of Jallen’s death, I would not be next to Robb Stark on this ship, sailing to Westeros to right these wrongs. For reasons unknown, Robb and I will forever be connected, and we may never know or understand why. Grief will only cause to stay my hand when the time comes to fight, and I will not allow it to overtake me. Not when I’ve sworn to protect Robb and his family.

“What is it?” Robb asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Nothing.”

“You have that look.”

“I have a look?”

He nods. “That look you get when something’s troubling you.” I furrow my brows and he adds, “I remember a lot more than you might think.”

“So do I,” I say, and I’m not sure why I say it.

For a moment, I can picture the night he kissed me. The way he looked at me before his lips met mine that night, and the way he felt. It was a moment of brief passion, and even in the moment I knew it was because this was all we would ever have. This one kiss. The question of what it would be like to be together, if he wasn’t in love with Talisa and I wasn’t a Lannister. In that moment, none of that mattered. Though it wasn’t right, it wasn’t meant as a betrayal against Talisa. It was a final goodbye. And though many things have changed since that night, that hasn’t. We may be connected by the Many-Faced God and the path laid before us, but that is all we will ever have.

“I was thinking about the journey once we reach land,” I say, letting my instincts of deceit melded with truth take over. “I’m afraid I’ll lead us to peril before we even reach the gates of Winterfell. I’ve never been that far North. I suppose you’ll be of help in that area?”

I shoot him a teasing look and the smile on his face wavers a moment. He nods.

“You could say I know my way around.” He says it in a teasing way but there is no lightness in his features. Instead he looks practically sick with worry, casting his gaze elsewhere. Somewhere beyond the sea, perhaps even beyond Westeros.

“Well, my Lord,” I say, trying to bring him back to the present. “What do you suggest? Once we meet briefly with our allies, do we head for Ramsgate and seek assistance there? Or do we venture the journey alone and hope for the best?”

Grey Wind nuzzles into Robb’s side, seemingly breaking him from whatever dark thoughts he was lost in. He looks at me and sighs.

“As you said, we don’t know how far the tyranny of the Boltons has gotten,” Robb says. “We trust no one until we know who holds Winterfell and what allies they’ve acquired.”

“Alone it is, then,” I say.

I take my cup of ale and hold it out to him, prompting a small quirk in the corner of his mouth.

“To Winterfell,” I say.

Robb takes his cup from beside him and clinks it against mine.

“To the North.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Lysandra swearing fealty to Robb? What do you make of their complex relationship in general? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> Also, if you're wondering about the song, the lyrics are my own. If you'd like to hear the song that inspired the tune and theme of the song, feel free to listen to "Winter's Song" by Tommee Profitt & Fleurie.


	14. A Stark of Winterfell

Long before the sun rises on the eighth morning, we've docked at a sharp edge of Northern Westeros. Directly between Ramsgate and White Harbor, where the defense is scarce and the woods are soon thick. Robb and I agree that the long way is our best bet, as we are more likely to remain hidden, especially with a large direwolf as a companion. We're both used to making camp wherever possible and lasting on minimal provisions, so I'm not necessarily concerned about that portion of the journey. Robb knows his way well, but things have changed in the North as of late. I'm worried about being spotted by one of the Houses, especially if the Boltons still hold power at Winterfell. Anyone who continued to swear fealty to House Stark has surely been killed if not imprisoned, and the remainder may have been forced to fight for House Bolton. I'm not sure how far we'll get without being spotted or how soon we'll have to fight, but I know we must head for Winterfell no matter the cost. I just hope the journey is not in vain.

We bid the Captain and the crew farewell and they supply us with all the food and drink they can spare and we can carry. I'm adorned in a grey fur and strong, black leather armor underneath. Heavy snow lies on the ground accompanied with a bitter chill in the air. I've never been more thankful for warmth in my life, for only my face suffers against the cold. I've never witnessed a winter like this one and, according to Robb, this one will be the longest and harshest winter yet. Jaime's voice rings in my head.

_I hate the fucking North._

I smile a little at the memory. We Lannisters have never been fond of the cold. I suppose now all that's left to do is get used to it at this point. I doubt I'll be journeying back South anytime soon, though I suppose it depends on what the North decides to do with me once they figure out my bloodline.

My mind wanders to Tyrion and Jaime more than I care to admit. I realize that Jaime must hate me, knowing I had at least some part of play in father's death. It's possibly the only thing that hurts me about my escape from King's Landing. If I had only a moment to say goodbye, to explain why I needed to go and that it wasn't to abandon him after supposedly plotting a murder, perhaps our relationship could have been mended like he wanted. But I let my anger towards him kindle and barely gave him the opportunity to fix things between us. It's a connection I'll always hate myself for severing, I suppose. Another choice that I'll be forced to live with until the end of my days.

As for Tyrion, I wonder where his life has taken him. A part of me wanted to stay with him, at least for a little while. I had so many things I wanted to say to him. That I don't blame him for father's death, that I forgive him for his wrongs, that I wish we could continue our journey together. And now I fear that I'll never see him again. When I left him the note, there was so much more I wanted to include, but I knew there were no words I could ever find that would be enough. I hope he's alive and I hope he's in good health. Though, I must admit, a part of me often pictures him drinking his life away surrounded by whores and terrible jokes. But wherever he is, if he's truly happy, that's all that really matters.

Robb and I step onto the jagged rocks with our packs on our shoulders and Grey Wind close in step. He's far more nimble than Robb and I combined, and I often find myself admiring the breathtaking direwolf. There's a moment where I slip and Grey Wind stops my leg with his head, preventing me from losing my footing completely and falling into the arctic water. I have far better balance than Robb, however, as there's quite a few times his foot gets caught in a crevice below. It takes every scrap of control I have to hide my smirk.

Robb reaches land first, followed by me and then Grey Wind. I turn back to the ship already preparing to set sail further South. Captain Harrion sticks his hand to the sky in farewell. We wave back and I already miss the feeling of the spray of the sea on my face. I know Robb and Grey Wind are thankful to be on land once again. They definitely did not enjoy themselves on the ship, and I can't blame them, but I hope one day I'm able to sail again. Perhaps even have a ship of my own, if my fate grants me a far off future once I've completed this path.

"Good fortune to you, my Lady and Lord," the captain calls.

"Fair winds to you, Captain," I call back.

And with that, the three of us turn away from the Narrow Sea and begin our journey to Winterfell.  
  
  


The path Robb takes us on is longer and harsher, though it's only so we remain as undetected as possible. Days go by and the winds seem to be working against us. It doesn't affect Robb and Grey Wind as much, but I feel myself growing slower by the day though I refuse to admit it. Robb notices this, however, and tends to slow his pace when the weather becomes more unbearable. He has this strong look of determination in his eyes, and truth be told despite the short breaks we take, we don't speak much. We're too focused on moving forward, on willing our bodies to bring us to our destination primarily unscathed. I also think it's easier to stay silent for I'm certain Robb's head is filled with overwhelming doubt and worry. The Young Wolf is strong and resilient, but even he has his troubles.

One night, we're able to start a small fire away from the wind. Grey Wind has been sleeping beside me each night to keep out the cold and it is successful for the most part. Even though he's been parted from the North for years, Robb still knows exactly where the best place for shelter is held. His instincts from childhood and the War of the Five Kings wasted no time in taking effect. He even behaves differently, as if we're both soldiers taking on a secret quest. His face is more firm, more stoic and absent of any potential weakness. It's something that unknowingly attracted me to him during our time amongst the camp. It always made him look powerful, like a true King in the North. And now that, combined with the scar upon his neck, makes it all the more truthful.

"What is it?" Robb asks, catching me staring from the opposite end of the fire.

I gesture to my neck. "Does it hurt?"

He touches the scar on his neck and a darkness briefly passes over his eyes.

"No," he finally replies. "But I'm always aware of it."

He watches me as I move Grey Wind's fur to look at his own practically matching scar. The fur directly around it is absent, but it's easy to hide among the rest of the long fur surrounding it. The direwolf stirs only slightly, but doesn't wake.

"He remembers everything," Robb says. "I see it in his eyes when he looks at me. He tried to warn me, you know. He tried to stop us from entering the Twins, from departing from his protection. He knew the danger and I didn't listen."

I stay silent, studying the subtle angst of his features. He shakes his head, talking more to himself now.

"I didn't listen," he whispers. "To him, to anyone."

It's the first time I've seen him even close to emotional since he told me of his resurrection. I want to go to him, to embrace him and tell him he can't blame himself, but I know it'll fall on deaf ears. I would be feeling the same in his position.

"I led us to our doom," he continues, not looking at me. "My choices, my _actions_ , caused the death of so many, including my own family. I betrayed the Freys. I executed Lord Karstark, my own kin. I led my family and men to slaughter. I failed. I failed the ones who trusted me. I failed my mother. My Talisa. My _child_." His voice breaks here as he runs a hand through his hair. "It's been nearly three years' time. How can I face them? How can I face Sansa? How can I face any of my siblings who still live?" He sighs shakily. "I've failed us all."

My heart breaks for him, and we remain in heavy silence as I know not how to comfort him, because there is no comfort. There is truth to his words in part, but I know he blames himself for too much. He punishes himself because he feels he deserves it. I know the feeling all too well. I've seen it in the ones I care about most. I've felt it myself.

"Much time has passed since your death," I say, staring into the flame. "The consequences of your mistakes have long come to pass, but you are still here among the living once again. You have not failed, not yet and not entirely. And if you have, my Lord, then you possess what many do not. The opportunity to right what wrongs you can and protect the family you have left. The opportunity to protect the people of the North, of even Westeros in time. You can use this second chance to be the man you want to be. Though I only knew Catelyn and Talisa for a short while, their love for you was dear, and I truly believe they would rejoice in your revival. They would want you to go back to your family and help where you can. They believed in you, and so do I. And so many will when you prove yourself to them once again."

Robb is silent for a long while, his eyebrows furrowed as if one deep in thought. Finally, before it's time for him to rest his head and for me to take the first watch, I say one final thing.

"It may not matter," I say. "But if the brother I loved was murdered and somehow returned to me after all this time, I wouldn't care about the mistakes he's made or the consequences he may have caused. I would simply be overjoyed to be with him again. To see his smile, to embrace him. It's the only thing I would want."

And I don't realize it until after I've said it, but it makes me think of all the times I wished to see Robb again, even if just for a short while. I imagined what would have happened if I had stayed with him. Would anything have been different? Would I too have been a victim of the Red Wedding? Regardless, a part of me always blamed myself for not realizing the heinous plan sooner. And even now, with Robb Stark breathing merely feet from me, it still doesn't feel like he's here.

Robb is lying on his back with his eyes facing the sky. His hands rest on his chest, gazing thoughtfully at the dead branches above.

"It does matter," he says quietly. He drifts off to sleep soon after.  
  
  


Hours pass into the night and I keep a steady watch over the sleeping figures. Grey Wind keeps me at ease, nuzzling into me when sleep threatens to take me. I'll wake Robb soon and he'll take over. I still haven't been sleeping well and Robb still tosses occasionally in his uneasy sleep. I've begun to wonder if the nightmares will ever subside.

I clear my mind as I have many times during my watch, searching for any messages that await for me within the Sight. It's during these sessions that I learned of Myrcella's death, and even though I spent little time with her in her short life, the grief and anger is still fresh in my heart. The Sands will pay, and I know this. For if Cersei does not claim their lives, I vow to do so without mercy or guilt.

Little Tommen claimed his own life. How lost our family has become... how far we have fallen into the darkness.

When I close my eyes, I can see Tyrion somewhere surrounded by water, but it isn't Pentos. He's dressed in fine clothing and has the feeling of being content and determined. Whatever he's been doing, it carries a heavy purpose. When I attempt to look closer, the scene changes and I can see Theon Greyjoy in great peril on an ambushed ship. The sight of him is astonishing after all this time, for he looks so different from when I saw him last. Robb cared for him deeply, and his betrayal left a scar on Robb's heart that will never be healed.

Then I see something else, something that prompts me to get to my feet. Even with my eyes open, I see no trees. No fire, no Robb, no Grey Wind. It is a land covered in ice. Flatlands and mountains upon mountains of ice. I walk forward, seeing dark shapes among the ground in the distance. As I get closer, I see the mangled dead bodies of many people. Some I feel like I recognize, others I've never laid eyes on. There are too many bodies to count and the sky is a storm-like grey. There, far off in the distance, standing on a tall hill, is a man with unnatural glowing blue eyes. His skin seems to made with shards of ice, like some demon that crawled out of the Land of Always Winter. And I know who he is, and he's surrounded by multitudes of the undead. He's looking directly at me, leagues and leagues away.

The Night King.

The vision fades all at once and I'm surrounded by unfamiliar wood. Seven hells, I've wandered to far. I look every which way but I don't recognize a thing. There is hardly any light, even with the moon shining through the trees. I'm lost and my heart is racing from the scene the Sight has shown me. Death will come for us all, and it's coming soon.

I want to call out to Robb, to Grey Wind, but I don't want to attract any enemies in the dark. The fear that has struck my heart from the vision seeps like ice through my veins. For the first time in a long time, I'm terrified. Rewan was right about an eternal darkness coming for Westeros. How much longer do we have before all is lost?

Then there's a hard blow to the back of my head, and everything goes black.

***

I wake slowly, daylight filtering through my eyelids. My vision is blurry, but I can feel my arms restricted. My back rests against something hard; a tree trunk. A rope is fastened tightly around my chest and stomach.

"Lysandra," a voice whispers.

I blink a few more times, groaning at the aching of my head. When my vision clears, I see Robb tied to another tree close to me. The sight triggers clarity as I recall being attacked in the night while away from camp.

I was supposed to keep watch. I was supposed to keep watch and my bloody vision strayed my focus. What is happening is entirely on me.

A large group of men stand by their horses not far off, shoving each other and laughing like wild animals. They're too preoccupied at the moment to focus on us. I turn back to Robb. There's a fresh gash above his brow.

"Who are these men?" I ask urgently, keeping my voice quiet.

"Wanderers," he says. "Likely from the South, judging by their clothes. They seemed set on robbing us in the night but now, I'm not so sure."

I look to the men again, but they pay us no mind, biding their time until they decide what to do with us.

"Are you alright?" Robb asks, drawing my attention back to him.  
"I've had worse," I say grimly. "And you?"

"Fine."

"Wait," I look around wildly. "Where's Grey Wind?"

His face falls. "I don't know. He wasn't here when I came to."

"He wouldn't just leave you," I say.

"No," he agrees, looking to the trees. "But if he isn't nearby, I suppose he was given no choice."

I eye our attackers.

"You're going to need to trust me entirely in the next few moments," I say quietly. "Because this isn't going to be pleasant. These men don't seem to be in their right mind."

Robb narrows his eyes. "What are you planning?"

But then the men grow bored of each other and make their way towards us. The largest of the men, seemingly the leader, smirks widely at me.

"The pretty one is awake," he says gruffly, taking in my figure.

I notice our weapons far beyond reach near their belongings. Our packs have been emptied along the ground, scattering our provisions and ridding us of any water we had left. The faces of the dead I've been carrying still stay firmly sealed in the secret compartment stitched by Rewan. I take small relief in that.

"Please let us go," I say weakly. "We're only travelers returning home. We can bring you whatever you desire."

"Whatever we desire," the large man mocks, looking to his comrades. "Lads, she's begging for it already."

My stomach curdles at his words, but I refuse to relive that awful memory again. Instead, I detach myself from Lady Lysandra of House Lannister. I remember my training, and become what I need to be.

"I'll do whatever you want," I plead. "Just please let my companion go."

I make eye contact with Robb, who shakes his head firmly, his jaw set in determination.

"Please," I say again. "I'll do anything."

The man smirks, licking his lips as a few men advance on me, wielding small blades in their hands.

"You heard her," the leader says. "Let's have her as a reward, eh? It's been a long journey. I haven't had a whore in over a fortnight."

The group howls with laughter, sending a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Robb struggles against his bonds, anger boiling on his face. Another man hits him viciously with the hilt of his sword, but it only seems to fuel Robb's rage.

The leader barely pays him a second glance but says, "You'll watch."

I beg for them not to harm me but it falls on deaf ears as they cut the rope holding me to the tree. I'm still weak from the injury to my head and I wince harshly as they drag me by my elbows to my feet. They thrust me at the large man causing me to crash against his chest. They smell foul, their breath on me is even worse. The other men pull at my furs, revealing the scars I prefer to stay hidden. I scream and cry, but I feel no emotion; only what must be done. I must play the part.

I struggle against their hold but they punch me in the stomach, shoving me towards the ground. Robb's yelling fades as I focus. What comes next happens so quickly I barely have time to think.

I jam my thumbs into the leader's eyes, just enough to catch him off guard. He begins to roll off to his side, dodging my attack when I elbow another man in the throat. I grab the rope cut near the tree and wrap it around the leader's neck, twisting it and pulling it even as the others go to pry me off, shouting in alarm with curses. I picture the darkened faces of the men who forced themselves on me long ago, fueling my rage and strength. I feel an arm being wrapped around my neck and I'm being pulled off the leader, but it's too late for him. A dark purple ring already rests around his neck.

The man who holds me squeezes tighter and I sink my teeth into his flesh. He howls in pain and whilst dodging an attack from another, I use his own blade to stab his throat. Two men overpower me, grabbing me from behind, but a loud snarl erupts through the trees and Grey Wind crashes into view. Some of the men stumble backwards, terrified and bewildered. The grip on me slackens just enough for me to wrestle out of their hold, right before Grey Wind lunges at them. I waste no time in cutting Robb's rope with an enemy's blade.

The look in Robb's eyes is unreadable, but there's no time to discuss before more men are heading toward us. I toss the leader's sword to Robb and the two of us prepare to fight. Grey Wind is holding his own, tearing into foe just like he did in the Battle of the Five Kings. He jumps onto a man who advances on Robb, and Robb cuts down the next assailant with ease.

Then a loud horn blows and men riding on horses come into view, adorning armor with the sigil of a merman holding a trident. The few remaining attackers scramble into the woods and a few riders pursue them. Grey Wind comes to stand beside me and Robb, his fur covered in blood. I grip the handle of the sword tight but Robb raises a hand to stop me.

"This is House Manderly," he says. "They wear their sigil, their armor."

"State your name and your purpose, travelers," the man in the front says. "For this direwolf drew my men to your peril, and direwolves are not seen frequently in this part of the country, or rather any part of Westeros."

I cast a knowing look to Grey Wind. He hadn't run off. He was bringing us aid.

"We journey to Winterfell," I say, my voice strong again. "We have business there."

"And what business is this?" he replies doubtfully.

I glance at Robb, unsure how to proceed. He gives a nod.

"A member of the Stark family wishes to return home," I say. "I've sworn an oath to take him there, but as you've seen, our journey has been hindered."

The man narrows his eyes, now looking at Robb.

"A Stark?" he says. "And what 'Stark' is this?"

Robb takes a steady breath, levelling his gaze at the man.

"I am Robb Stark of Winterfell," he says in a proud voice I haven't heard in a long time.

The men look at each other uneasily. The captain glances at Grey Wind, but his expression remains hard.

"The Young Wolf is long dead," he says with certainty. "Attempt to deceive me, and I'll cut you down where you stand."

Robb keeps his stance, but his eyes are sad.

"Do you not recognize me, Ser Byrron?" he says. "Do you not recognize my companion, Grey Wind who fought alongside me in battle time and time again?"

The sound of his name seems to rattle Ser Byrron, and the mist in his eyes seems to clear ever so slightly as he looks between Robb and Grey Wind. There's a hint of recognition there, but logic and disbelief wins out.

"You will ride with us to have an audience with the Lord of White Harbor," Ser Byrron says. "I suggest you accompany us willingly. We'll discover your true intentions yet, and in the name of the King in the North, you will receive the justice you deserve."

"Ser," I say, and Ser Byrron's hard gaze lands on me. "Forgive me, but we've been away for some time. Please, who is the King in the North?"

He looks at me as if this is the first time he's taking in my appearance. How mad I must look with my clothes torn and the blood of men smeared upon me. I attempt to make myself look as vulnerable as possible, and the harshness of his eyes softens a bit.

"The White Wolf," he says. "Jon Snow."

***

When the three of us enter White Harbor, a hush falls over the people and the guards. Robb makes me swear to keep my true identity a secret, at least until we arrive at Winterfell. We're led through the city until we finally receive the audience with the Lord of White Harbor as promised. When Lord Wyman Manderly looks upon Robb Stark and his direwolf, his face turns ghostly white and he staggers back as if he's been struck. He looks at them in amazement.

"It can't be." He presses his fingers into his eyes and looks again, as if it will erase the hallucination entirely. "The Red Wedding. The King in the North was killed along with countless others, my son being one of them." His voice breaks. "Tell me how this is possible and not the trick of an old man's mind."

"There is no deceit on my end, my Lord," Robb says gravely. "I will tell you all that I know, and my companion will tell you what she knows of my revival, and you will pass judgement on how you wish to proceed with what is given to you."

So we tell Lord Manderly all that we can, leaving nothing out but my true name and the bits of my journey I choose to keep to myself. I tell him of this Sight, but am careful not to elaborate on much beyond the part it had to play in Robb's discovery.

When we finish, Lord Manderly is quiet for a long while. When he finally speaks, his eyes are focused on Robb's scar.

"You bear the scar upon your neck," he says, motioning to his own neck. "And your direwolf bears the same on his."

"Yes, my Lord."

"By all the gods." Lord Manderly says this bit mostly to himself, bringing a hand to his brow. "First your brother and now this. What sorcery has come upon us all?"

"My Lord?" Robb asks, taking a step forward.

It's then that Wyman tells us of Jon's death, and how he was resurrected by the Red Woman, whom Jon banished for burning Shireen Baratheon at the stake in the name of the Lord of Light. Robb casts me an uneasy glance at the mention of the Lord of Light and I can't help but feel even more conflicted than I already do.

After much discussion long into the evening, Lord Manderly tells us we will take lodging in White Harbor tonight, and he will supply us with two horses and provisions for our journey to Winterfell in the morning. Robb insists on riding to his siblings tonight, but Manderly rightly points out that we are in desperate need of rest. He sends us to our rooms with servants to help us with bathing and tending to our wounds.

Afterwards, I hear scratching on my door and I open to see Robb and Grey Wind. Robb is holding two plates of food and I open the door wide enough for the two of them to come in before shutting it again.

"I told Lord Manderly I'd prefer to eat dinner alone," he says, giving me a plate.

"Away from prying eyes," I say.

He nods. "I don't think I'll ever get used to the staring."

"It will fade in time." I join him at the small table by my bed. "But you'll be telling this story for the rest of your days, I reckon."

Grey Wind curls up directly in front of the fire and watches the two of us eat, his eyes expectant. Robb tosses him a piece of fish and he gobbles it up immediately.

"Manderly offered to send a raven to Jon about my arrival," he says. "But he needs to see me himself. It's the only way he and Sansa will believe it. Instead, the letter will tell them to expect two allies at the South Gate in a few days' time."

I smile. "You're almost home."

"Yes," he says, but his eyes are distant as he looks at me. "Our journey is coming to an end."

I hold his gaze for a moment, allowing myself to get lost in the ice blue of his eyes. It's so easy to do it frightens me. It's always frightened me how I feel when I'm with him. It's only grown stronger in the time we've spent together, traveling and breaking down our walls. We've come to trust each other in a way I haven't felt in a long time. I can't imagine being without him and Grey Wind, though I suppose our journeys will separate once we reach Winterfell. I reckon it's probably for the best.

"You'll be with your family soon," I say, breaking the hold. "That's what matters."

Robb hesitates. "Back in the woods, those men... I know it must have brought back dark memories. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you, not that you needed it."

I cock my head to the side. "That's what worried you? Not the way I..."

I think about how easily it was to kill those men, not so much physically but emotionally. I was ready to slaughter all of them if I could, without so much as a thought of remorse. It brought back the rape, yes, but if anything that memory just fueled my desire to kill, to not feel.

"You think I haven't seen worse in battle?" he asks, an eyebrow raised. "No, Lysandra. You were protecting yourself, protecting us. You've changed so much since we last saw each other, but I know your heart. We've spent far too much time together for me not to. It's more present than you realize."

My eyes stray to my fingers, slowly picking at my nails in thought.

"I have to tell you something," I say.

"I'm listening."

"First..." I take a breath. "I killed a man, a good man, back in Braavos. He was so kind, Robb. He helped me travel across Essos to get to the Free City. He gave me food, water, shelter. We parted ways and I went to the House of Black and White." My eyes sting with fresh tears. "I killed men in the name of the Many-Faced God and his purpose for me. They were evil men that no one will mourn but Jallen... he had a son who trusted me. He had a wife he loved; a family. He was a good man and when Rewan told me to kill him I told myself it was for the greater good, but I don't think that's true. It was a way to make me into this emotionless weapon."

Once I start talking, I can't stop. I tell him of my regret, my confusion, the way the visions affect me.

"I wish I had done more for you," I whisper, wiping away tears. "I often thought if I hadn't left you that night, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I could have done something that would have saved... I don't know. When I found out the possibility of you being alive, I knew I needed to get to you, help you if I could. During my training I was stripped of who I once was. My mother tried to... tried to end my life in the womb and the Faceless Men knew. No one knew but my father. They said the Many-Faced God saved me, but I see now that I should have ended my life instead of Jallen's. I'm no better than the Red Woman who burned that little girl alive."

I wipe the remaining tears from my face and move to sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, closing my eyes against the comfort of the heat. I can't look at Robb. I've already said too much and I made a vow to myself long ago that I wasn't going to show others my weakness. I transformed myself in Braavos to show only strength, yet here I am looking like a fool.

Grey Wind whines softly and footsteps approach me. Slowly, Robb's strong arms wrap around me, pulling me gently into his chest. The embrace causes more tears to fall down my cheeks as I allow myself to break, just a little, in the Young Wolf's hold.

"We've all done things we regret, Lysandra," Robb says, his voice quiet. "What matters is what we do afterwards. I, for one, am happy you're here with me."

He pulls me a little closer and Grey Wind pushes my foot gently with his nose. I smile a little.

"I didn't know about your mother. I'm sorry."

"Neither did I," I say. "Tywin told me not long before I left King's Landing for Braavos."

We sit there for a moment in silence.

"Lysandra?"

"Yes?"

"I need you to know... there's nothing you could've done," Robb says. "If you hadn't left, you may have perished along with us."

"And you are not the Red Woman," he adds, stroking my hair. "You have a fierce and gentle heart. Whatever darkness you've committed, you must not let it consume you."

I sit back up and he releases me, but our hands remain touching.

"There's something else."

"What is it?"

I take a moment to speak the words I've never spoken aloud to anyone.

"The night I got these scars," I say, motioning to my torso. "The night those men attacked me..."

I trail off, lost in the memories. Robb waits patiently for me to continue.

"I have a child," I say, finally looking at him. "During my time at Casterly Rock, I gave birth to a son. I sent him away so he'd be safe from my family, from the Lannister name. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him."

The Young Wolf is speechless, his eyebrows furrowed at the new realization. He holds both of my hands in his.

"I just wanted someone to know besides me," I say. "And I trust you... more than I trust anyone."

He shakes his head, taking a long breath.

"I can't imagine how difficult that must be for you," he says. "Thank you for trusting me. It is not misplaced."

I smile. "I know."

Robb's gaze holds so much kindness. A small smile rests on his lips. I wish to touch his face, to hold him to me once more. I wish things could be different.

I thank him for the food and bid him goodnight. There is still much to be discussed regarding the threat beyond the wall, but nothing that won't wait until morning.

The vision of the Night King haunts my dreams.


	15. The North Remembers

"I'm soon headed to Winterfell as well," Lord Manderly says as he walks us to our readied horses. "Our King wants to ensure all is prepared against the threat of the Night King. We'll need every man we can get in the battle ahead. I'm sure you'll know all about it soon enough."

"Thank you, my Lord." Robb nods in respect. "I hope I can one day repay the kindness you've shown us."

"I do it for the King in the North," he replies sternly. "Rest assured I am glad you're alive, Stark. I'm glad for your brother and your sister, but I do not forget that my son was slaughtered in your name, for your foolishness."

The weariness weighs heavy in Robb's eyes as he looks at the Lord of White Harbor.

"I will never be able to express my grief enough for your loss," Robb says. "But I will do everything in my power to bring only honor and truth to the North." He glances at me. "To right my wrongs."

"If the North will even be here after the war of the undead," Manderly says gruffly.

We arrive at the gate where our horses are waiting for us, already prepared with our packs full of provisions and our weapons retained safely to their sheaths. I bow my head to Wyman.

"Thank you, Lord Manderly," I say. "We may have died if it weren't for the help of your men."

Lord Manderly nods, then looks to Robb. To both of our surprise, he sticks out his hand. Robb hesitates only a moment before taking it firmly.

"You've lost much as well," Manderly says. "I haven't forgotten. The Red Wedding has been avenged and I hope it may bring you peace. Until we meet again, farewell."

"Farewell."

The two of us ride on the common path, shielding ourselves from the cold easily with the Northern attire provided by House Manderly. These Northerners sure are fond of blues, greys, and blacks, not that I'm complaining. The clothes suit me well. They tried to fit me with a dress, but being with the Faceless Men taught me a sense of practicality. It's time for me to leave my love of dresses behind. There will be no place for them in the battles ahead. Instead, I've been fitted with a grey feminine tunic, along with a black knee-length skirt over grey fitted trousers. My cloak is adorned in light grey fur towards the top, and the cloak itself is the darkest shade of night I've ever seen.

Robb's attire is so similar to that which he wore when I first met him, bringing back a lot of memories I hold dear. He looks like a Stark now. A Northerner returned home. He has that proud and determined look in his eye that I saw in him long ago. Being back in the North has worried him yes, but he's never looked more content.

Grey Wind trots just ahead of us, happy to be free to roam through the falling snow. He's more alive now than ever before, his eyes bright and his tongue hanging happily from his mouth. Robb watches his close friend fondly, an easy smile resting on his lips. The three of us ride for some time before dismounting and taking a moment's rest.

"I think we should keep your name as Keynna," Robb says after taking a drink of water. "I know you don't want to lie, but the North will not be kind to you. I'm afraid even if I vouch for you it won't do any good."

I smile sadly. "You know we can't do that. You know it's not fair to your siblings or the North. An alliance starts with trust. And even if I agreed with you, Sansa knows my face. She will do what is best for the people. Whatever comes next, we will have to accept the consequences."

"She doesn't know you like I know you," he says. "None of them do. If we tell them you're a Lannister, I may not be able to protect you."

"It's not your duty to protect me," I say. "I appreciate your trust, Robb. I do. But I swore an oath to bring you to Winterfell and I will uphold that oath. It doesn't matter what happens to me."

"Well, it matters to me," he snaps, taking me by surprise. "I made a vow, too. I vowed to protect you from harm, Lysandra. Don't you see how much I care for you?"

I place my hands gently on his arms.

"You've become a dear friend," I say. "You trusted me when you had no reason to. You've been by my side for so long now, I'd be a fool not to know how much you care. You have to continue to trust me now. This is the right thing to do."

He sighs, placing his hands over mine.

"I do trust you," Robb says. "We'll do this your way."

"Thank you."

There's a pause, his gaze lingering on my hands.

"It's strange."

"What is?"

"The way I feel when I'm with you," he says. "My mind had this fog over it for the longest time. Sometimes I'm not even sure what's real since I came back, though I remember everything. But when I'm with you, when I talk to you, even when you look at me; everything seems to clear on its own. You're like..."

He pauses and I wait. Then he looks at me, his blue eyes thoughtful and hesitant.

"Like the night sky."

His words are soft and they make my heart quicken just a step. He's so close to me, his face merely inches from mine. I look momentarily at his lips, considering that maybe everything doesn't have to be quite as complex as it may seem.

Then I think to all he's lost and all the two of us may lose on the long journey to the Night King's war. There is too much at stake to concern ourselves with anything but the important matter at hand. Lannisters and Starks are not even meant to be allies, let alone anything more. It's a miracle we've made it this far.

"We're tied together by these visions and your revival," I say gently. "I believe we always will be."

I step out of his reach and go to my horse.

"We should get back on the path," I say.

"Lysandra."

I turn to him.

"I need you to know... it was difficult for me too. To watch you walk away that night."

My gaze falls to the snowy ground, and then I reach into my attire and pull out the hidden dagger near my waist. It's a small blade with a black wolf at the hilt. The same blade that Bronn saw long ago when we sparred near Blackwater Bay. I take it carefully by the blade and hand it to him.

It takes a brief moment for him to recognize it and a small smile forms on his face. He looks up at me.

"You gave me that the night I left," I say, thinking back. "For my protection."

"I can't believe you kept it."

"I've always had it. Saved my hide once or twice, too." I smirk.

Robb hands it back to me and I slide it back in place.

"I wanted things with us to be different," I admit. "I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at her, but I knew your heart and it wasn't mine to take."

"And now?" he asks, his voice quiet.

The struggle in his eyes is enough to break anyone's heart. How difficult it must be for him to feel this way, to want something that cannot be. Talisa will always be in his thoughts. The Red Wedding will always darken his dreams. Our last names will always prove to pose an issue. And me, I have my own darkness to battle. We care for each other, and that will have to be enough.

"Now..." I sigh. "Now, there are more important things to discuss. Now, we bring you home."

***

We've nearly reached the South Gate when Robb comes to a halt. I stop alongside him, and Grey Wind turns around expectantly, cocking his head to the side for a command.

"It'll be alright," I say, reaching out to touch his arm.

His jaw is clenched and he gives me a tight nod.

"You said you have a son," he says abruptly.

I furrow my eyebrows. "Yes."

"How old would he be?"

I indulge him, knowing full well he is stalling.

"It's been about seventeen years since his nameday," I say. "And yes, that means I am _far_ older than you."

He gives me a look that tells me he's not amused.

"You are not _far_ older than me."

"Nearly a decade, wolf boy."

"Age," he says incredulously. " _That's_ what bothers you about us?"

"Perhaps," I say with a shrug. "Perhaps not. Perhaps I'm just distracting you."

He sighs and looks towards the gate. I notice the way he's clenching the reins a little tighter than necessary.

"You're a Stark of Winterfell, Robb. You're meant to be here."

He looks at me then, and for the first time I can see a shadow of fear in his eyes. I nod to him encouragingly.

"I'll be right by your side," I say.

Grey Wind huffs at his master in reassurance before staggering on. Robb straightens himself up and urges the horse on. We put up our hoods as we approach the gate.

We enter with ease, approaching two guards on the inside of the walls. They're friendly enough, but cautious, and demand to know our purpose. I tell them we've been sent from White Harbor, that Lord Manderly sent a raven to the King in the North to announce our arrival. They look to Grey Wind in suspicion, watching wearily as the direwolf walks calm circles around them whilst searching for something in the distance. He's listening for something, or perhaps waiting to catch a specific smell in the air.

One of the guards looks to the other one and says, "Send for the King."

He nods and starts off, glancing as he passes Grey Wind. Grey Wind gives both of us a look before following him.

"What are your names?" The remaining guard asks.

I dismount from my horse and allow my hood to fall, revealing my face.

"My name is-" but I falter as I see Sansa coming out from one of the archways.

She's so different from the time I saw her last. She poised, dressed in fine clothes with a look of royalty. Her flaming red hair is long down her back. She no longer looks like the little dove my sister took her for. A strength rests in her features that's clear even without my ability to connect with the minds of others. I can feel like agony of her past. She's lost so much, been through so much, yet here she stands proudly.

The Lady of Winterfell does not look pleased to see me.

She approaches us, her eyes narrow.

"Her name is Lysandra Lannister," Sansa says bluntly. "Daughter of Tywin Lannister."

The guard takes a step back by Sansa's side, his hand immediately readied on the hilt of his sword. That's when I see Littlefinger not far behind, his eyes like that of a reptile's on my appearance. My blood curdles at the sight of him.

I raise my hands slowly. "I did not come on ill grounds. Please, allow me to speak before you pass judgement. That's all I ask."

"Lady Sansa," Lord Baelish says in a quiet, venomous voice. "Lady Lysandra cannot be trusted. She's likely conspiring with the Lannisters to overthrow you and your family's rule over the North. I suggest taking her prisoner immediately."

"And what are _you_ doing here?" I say, my voice ice. "I suggest if you make threats towards me, you ought to carry them out yourself, Littlefinger."

"I assisted the King in the North at the Battle of the Bastards," Baelish says curtly. "Without the Knights of the Vale, many more would have perished. You are the one trespassing." He turns to Sansa. "You know as well as I the Lannisters cannot be trusted."

"I also know my trust for you has diminished, Lord Baelish," Sansa says, shooting him a harsh glance. "Lady Lysandra, I highly suggest you and your companion state your purpose here before matters escalate."

I look to Robb who has dismounted, his face still obscured.

"I've come to return your brother to his home." I turn back to Sansa.

She narrows her eyes in confusion, looking from the cloaked figure to me.

"Bran?" She says, her eyes betraying her stoic expression.

I shake my head. "No, Lady Sansa."

"Speak plainly, Lady Lysandra." Sansa's voice is stricken. "There are archers at the ready."

Just then, I see Grey Wind tear into the area, leading a bewildered man with slicked-back black hair adorned in armor and fur. His facial hair reminds me of Robb's, though this man's is more clean-cut and groomed. Grey Wind is now close behind Sansa, Littlefinger, and the men who have gathered to protect the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa gasps at the new direwolf and Grey Wind slowly lowers his body down into a low bow. He whines softly at the sight of her.

Sansa looks to Jon Snow for an explanation but Jon is staring at the cloaked stranger standing a few feet behind me. The King in the North seems frozen in time, his eyes wide in shock and fear. Fear of hoping, of believing the impossible.

"It cannot be," Jon says.

Robb removes the hood from his head, his eyes grief-stricken at the sight of his brother and sister.

"Hello, Snow," he says, soft but strong. He looks to Sansa. "Sansa."

Littlefinger and the crowd that has gathered nearby shrink back immediately. Gasps of the impossible echo like harsh whispers in the wind. Tears are already forming in Sansa's eyes as she looks from Grey Wind to Robb. She shakes her head.

"This isn't possible," she says through a choked sob.

She looks to Jon and the two share an unspoken understanding. This has happened before, for Jon was murdered at the Wall only to be brought back to life by the Red Woman. The idea of another Stark returning from the dead is not impossible at all.

Sansa looks back to Robb, who already has tears falling from his eyes as he waits patiently for the actions of his siblings to come to pass. He shakes his head.

"I failed you," he says quietly, sucking in a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry."

The two look at each other in silence for only a moment longer before Sansa runs to Robb, throwing her arms tightly around his neck. She cries into his shoulder.

"It's you," she says repeatedly. "Robb, you're here."

He holds his sister tightly in return.

"I'm here," he promises.

The King in the North steadily makes his way through the people as if in a daze. His hand gently brushes over Grey Wind's back as he walks past him, making the direwolf breathe out contently. He approaches Robb and Sansa, tears in his eyes as well as Robb looks at him out from over Sansa's shoulder. Jon looks as if he's about to shatter, but is able to keep his composure intact. He looks to me only briefly, but a look of gratitude is wholeheartedly there. Robb reaches out a hand and Jon doesn't hesitate to clasp onto it. Robb pulls him to join the embrace and the three Stark children seem to melt into each other like ice in the hot summer.

I wipe tears from my own face, feeling the love so strongly it's overwhelming. The Sight sometimes grants me the emotions of others, particularly strong ones. If I focus enough, I can see glimpses of a person's past, what they've overcome. It's the same with places. Winterfell is a place of so much tragedy and love. It's so overwhelming that I feel my kneels buckle as I fall to the ground. Grey Wind is by my side in an instant, willing himself to be my steadied hand. I smile at the direwolf.

"I believe there's someone who'd love to see you," I say. I look beyond the trees.

Within seconds, a snow white direwolf emerges from the distant trees. He lets out a howl that pierces the sky as he charges for Grey Wind. Grey Wind howls in a very similar manner and runs to meet him. The two meet in the courtyard and fall into each other, pushing into one another playfully and whining shrilly. This is Ghost, Jon's direwolf, I conclude.

Jon and Robb look at their direwolves, laughing lightly at the sight of them reunited just like they themselves have been. It's truly a sight to see.

A guard that was standing next to Littlefinger, whom I know realize is wearing armor with the sigil of the Vale, comes to my aid. He gently helps me to my feet and nods respectfully. It is clear Littlefinger does not take kindly to this act. I nod to the Knight in thanks and steady myself by leaning lightly against my horse. I look to the Starks still clasping onto each other and smile. Shouts and chants including "the Young Wolf" have risen up to the sky.

"I swore an oath to return Robb Stark to Winterfell," I say mostly to myself. "Now, that oath has been fulfilled."

***

A few days later, I stand alone near the wall of Winterfell's Great Hall as the King in the North holds a meeting with the bannermen of the North about the upcoming threat of the Night King. The call for dragonglass and able-bodied men, women, and even children are in dire need. The moment I've been dreading has come, the certainty of the Night King's threat, but also the trial held for me here in Winterfell. I've been treated kindly thus far, but I've kept mostly to myself. The people of Winterfell and the North have been too preoccupied with the return of Robb Stark to take major notice of a Lannister in their city. Although the shock of Robb's revival is still relatively fresh, my presence can no longer be ignored.

I stand silently before the King in the North, the Lord of Winterfell, and the Lady of Winterfell. My weapons have been taken from me, but Robb has made sure my sentimental belongings have been kept in his possession. He reminds me of a Lord now more than ever, but I know him well enough to see the worry through his stern façade. Should this trial go poorly, my life is but a frail thing.

"Lady Lysandra of House Lannister," Jon Snow says, standing.

"Your Grace."

"You've delivered my brother to myself and my family, and for that I will be forever grateful." I nod and he shares a look of regret. "But the North has called to discuss the fate of your presence here. Let us hear from them now."

Lord Glover stands. "The Lannisters have betrayed the Starks countless times. They're no friends of the North and there is no place for a Lannister amongst any of us."

There's a loud murmur of agreement along with a few shouts of approval. The Stark children exchange weary glances, but maintain their composure all the same.

Lord Royce is the next to stand. "We are grateful for Lord Stark's return, that is evident. But it does not erase the damage this woman's family has caused. She can be trusted no more than her family. She should be imprisoned until the best action is decided. Her imprisonment could ensure the opportunity to sway the South's hand."

More nods of approval, louder shouts.

"Execution!" Someone calls from the crowd, followed by more shouts.

I keep my expression neutral. This is exactly what I feared would occur, but I mustn't show weakness now. I remember my training back in Braavos.

"Pardon me, my Lord," I say, turning to Lord Royce. "But if blackmail is the route you're suggesting, might I suggest a different path? If the North threatens my sister with my death, you'll be rather disappointed. Cersei has no love for me, though I suppose you could offer me up to her so she can dispatch of me herself. I'm sure she'd be delighted."

Lord Royce blinks, baffled. He grumbles something before taking a seat. Uneasy whispers scatter throughout the hall. When I turn back towards the head table, I notice a gleam of pride in Sansa's eye. She leans forward, her hands clasped onto the table.

"While I understand the concerns," she begins. "I must address the fact that Lady Lysandra travelled a long way with our brother in order to return him to his home. From his own words, she fought for him and alongside him. During my time in King's Landing, Lady Lysandra was kind not only to me, but to her people. She was not afraid to speak against Joffrey's cruelty. She brought me a small comfort when I believed my brother to be dead." She looks to Jon. "She's done nothing to deserve execution, but I trust your judgement in this matter." Then she addresses Robb. "Perhaps you'd like to speak on her behalf?"

But before Robb can say a word, the crowd erupts in protest. Voices shout from the crowd.

"There is no place for a Lannister in the North!"

"Allowing her to stay is treason in itself!"

It's young Lyanna Mormont's voice that silences the rest.

"Enough!" she shouts, glaring at the Lords and Ladies of the North. She rises and walks to stand beside me, addressing the table in front of us.

"While Lady Lysandra has not directly caused any harm to the North, her namesake has left misery and bloodshed in its wake." Lady Lyanna addresses, glancing at me. "I agree that execution is an unjust sentiment, but one good deed does not prove her worth in the North. Has she fought for the North? Was she raised in the bitter cold? Has she lost family due to the hatred of the South? Lysandra Lannister is not a Northerner. Trust is too fragile in these times and _trust_ is exactly what we require in the battle ahead." She looks at me. "And the North cannot trust her."

It's nearly silent in the room as her words sink in, and I can't help but agree with her. I always knew Winterfell would never receive me, for it is not my home and it never will be.

Jon looks to Robb, who is practically on his feet already, and nods to him. Robb stands fully and nods respectfully to Lady Lyanna.

"I respect your judgement, Lady Lyanna," Robb says. "For it is wise and not untruthful, but the argument here has entirely to do with Lady Lysandra's last name and her _family's_ involvement, not Lady Lysandra herself. I know her to have a kind and fierce heart for the ones she loves. I know her to be loyal and brave. She swore an oath to return me to my family, to right her family's wrongs, and she has fulfilled it with every breath since. She is not her father, nor is she her sister. I know I've failed the North in the past, but I ask that you trust me now."

The people look to each other, seemingly moved by Robb's speech, but there are still plenty of skeptics in our midst, especially Lady Mormont.

"I am glad for your return, my Lord," she says. "Truly. But it does not change the past or the matter of your judgement leading many to be slaughtered at the Red Wedding. You are no longer the King in the North, and this would not be the first time your judgement has been clouded by something other than strategy."

A few people look at each other and nod in agreement. Robb does an impressive job at maintaining a stoic look, but I can see the words cut him more deeply than he'd like. It's because he knows Lady Lyanna is right. He has made far more mistakes in the past than we've discussed. There's a reason why he's known as "The King Who Lost the North".

Seeing his brother's reaction, Jon gets to his feet once again, giving Robb an understanding look before turning his gaze to me, Lyanna, and the rest of the crowd.

"Your concerns have been heard," Jon says, his voice loud and strong in the hall. "But I know my brother, and though he has made mistakes, he has not shied from them, nor attempted to make excuses for what has been done. We cannot live in the past. If we do that, we will never gain the allies we need, nor the trust we desire amongst ourselves. I trust my brother's judgement in this matter and all things going forward. Let us not forget that sons and daughters should _not_ be held accountable for the mistakes of their fathers. I understand that trust is important in an alliance, and I ask you now as your King, to trust me."

Lord Manderly stands, looking to me with hesitation. Then he addresses Jon.

"Lady Lysandra has delivered the Young Wolf to the North and asked for nothing in return. Perhaps she has shown that her loyalty lies with the Stark banner as she claims."

There are a few who agree with the old Lord, but many erupt in more shouts and accusations. This is never going to end, this hatred. Even if Jon grants me a place here, the people will question him as a leader. I can feel this, and perhaps my journey is not to remain here in Winterfell. At least, not until the Night King has finally come for us all.

I step forward.

"Your Grace?"

Jon holds a hand to the crowd and they slowly quiet down.

"If I may?" I ask. Jon nods, motioning me to continue. "I swore fealty to your brother Robb Stark, and in doing so I've also sworn to serve you and the rest of your family. I've pledged to House Stark and that hasn't changed, nor will it. But..." I look to the crowd, all eyes on me. "it is true I am not a Northerner. It is true that I have not proven myself to the North. It is also true that my family has inflicted far too much pain for me to ever rectify, despite any efforts I may give. In light of this truth, I believe it would be best for me to leave Winterfell."

Surprised voices sound behind me and I can see Lyanna looking stunned, as if she was expecting a fight. Robb's jaw clenches and even Jon and Sansa look confused. Robb leans forward, addressing only me when the room gets quieter.

"Your family held you against your will and nearly forced you to marry Roose Bolton had you not escaped when you did," he says slowly, as if reminding me.

This leads to more surprised whispers, including a paled look from Sansa.

"If you return South," Robb continues. "They'll execute you without a moment's hesitation."

Sansa looks wearily between me and Robb.

"He's right," she says.

I take a breath. "I'm not going South, my Lord. My Lady."

"Where will you go?" Jon asks.

In truth, I've known for a short while where the Sight wants me to go next. The place where I'm needed most in the battle ahead. I don't know what awaits for me there but I know it's my purpose to start there and see where it leads me. Even so, I know deep down this won't be my last time in Winterfell.

"With your permission, Your Grace," I address Jon. "I wish to journey further North. To the Wall."

The room erupts again, including Robb and Sansa, but I raise my hand and talk over them.

"Whatever this Sight is," I say. "its relation to the battle against the Night King is not over. I may not be welcome here, but I will not stand aside and allow people to die while I cower elsewhere. It's my belief that I have business at the Wall."

A newfound silence fills the room, and though it may be small, I can feel the shift in emotion towards me. The hatred and mistrust is slightly less, and the Stark children look at me in a different light. Robb doesn't look pleased with my declaration, but at this point he understands better than anyone what I must do.

"They don't allow women at the Wall," Jon warns, though the look in his eye tells me he knows that won't stop me.

"Allow me to worry about that, Your Grace."

After a moment, Jon nods.

"Very well," he says. A few begin to protest but Jon gives a look that silences the room. "You returned our brother to Winterfell. Because of this, and Robb's trust in you, I give you my trust as well. You will be supplied with a strong horse as well as any provisions we can spare." He eyes my attire. "And warmer clothes. The journey from Winterfell to the Wall is harsh, especially for those not raised in the North. Might I suggest someone accompany you?"

I smile. "Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace. I will manage on my own. I'd like to leave today, if I can."

"As you wish," he says with a nod. "This meeting has come to an end."

As people begin to get up and talk amongst themselves, I approach the head table, directing myself towards Jon.

"I hope the next time we meet, it will be as allies," I say. With that, I address all three of them with their titles, carefully avoiding Robb's gaze, bow, and exit the hall.

Not long after the meeting, I approach the horse I'll be taking and carefully stroke its dark mane. The horse itself is such a dark brown that it almost looks black. It will be readied soon. I hear Sansa approaching but pretend that I don't, not quite sure what I will say to her.

"They call you the Forgotten Lion, you know." I turn to see her smiling. "Not just in the South, but here too."

I scoff. "I suppose I am rather forgetful. Half the country doesn't even know a fourth Lannister sibling exists."

"That may not be as bad as you make it."

"You may be right."

"No, they call you that because people underestimate you," Sansa says. "I know it all too well." She pauses. "Use that to your advantage. It may save your life."

"Spoken like a true survivor," I say, an eyebrow raised.

"It takes one to know one, I suppose."

I nod. "This Sight, it allows me to see glimpses into the past. I don't always mean for it to... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For all you've been through, for what my family put you and your family through. I know it's not enough but-"

"You have nothing to apologize for," she says. "You took no part in it. We know that now."

"Thank you, my Lady."

Her smile fades. "I never got a chance to thank _you_. Not only for returning my brother, but for being kind to me after I lost him and my mother. I apologize for my hostility towards you when you arrived here."

I shake my head. "I would have reacted the same way. The protection of your family and your people comes first. It should always be that way."

At the mention of family, she looks hesitant. Then she reveals something hidden in her coat. A small scroll. She hands it to me.

"A raven came for Jon," she says as I unroll the paper. "He thought I should show it to you."

The letter includes the Targaryen symbol and a penmanship I immediately recognize:

_Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, invites you to Dragonstone. My queen commands the combined forces of Dorne and the Reach, an Ironborn fleet, legions of Unsullied, a Dothraki horde and three dragons. The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny. I appeal to you, one bastard to another — for all dwarves are bastards in their fathers' eyes._

_Tyrion Lannister Hand of the Queen_

I read the note over and over again, barely believing what I'm reading. Tyrion, alive and the Hand of the Dragon Queen. So that's what I've been seeing when I search for him. He's on Dragonstone with Daenerys Targaryen, supporting and advising her. How in the seven hells did that happen?  
But he's alive. He's okay.

"This is my brother's handwriting," I say, reading over the note again. "I'd recognize it anywhere."

I pull myself together and hand the scroll back to Sansa.

"I was worried it was a trap," she admits. "But Jon said the last line was something Tyrion had said to him in the past. He thought you'd like to know that Tyrion lives."

I smile a little. "When we were younger, Tyrion and I used to write notes to each other. It was a way we could improve our hand without incurring the wrath of our father. We weren't very close, but we bonded through books and writing." I shake the memory from my mind, taking a deep breath before look at her again. "Thank you, Lady Sansa."

I want to ask her if Jon is planning on traveling to Dragonstone, but I know it is not my place. It does bring me relief that Tyrion is safe, but I can't help but wonder if he has ulterior motives when siding with the Mad King's daughter. I know very little about her, but perhaps Tyrion sees a brighter future with her on the throne instead of Cersei. One can't possibly fault him for that notion.

Sansa accompanies me to be dressed in warmer clothing and to have my belongings brought to me. It feels good to have my sword again and the wolf dagger. My pack is returned to me as well and I'm equipped with food and water for the journey ahead. When we return to my horse, Sansa has a curious look in her eye.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Do you love him?"

My eyebrows furrow. "Who?"

She looks at me knowingly.

"Are you in love with my brother?"

The question catches me off guard. For a moment, all I can do is stare at her, searching for some kind of answer. She smiles at me, apparently having the answer she needed, and nods to someone behind me.

"I'll leave you two," Sansa says. "Ride safely, Lady Lysandra. May we meet again."

I wish her farewell and turn to see Robb and Grey Wind close behind me. Robb raises his eyebrows.

"Thought you would leave without saying goodbye to us?" he asks, motioning to him and his direwolf. "You made quite a show in there about your loyalty to me."

I smile at them, scratching Grey Wind behind the ears. He licks one of my hands in approval. Robb is looking at me with that stoic, battle-ready expression he wears so effortlessly. I raise an eyebrow.

"Lord of Winterfell," I say, straightening myself. "It has a nice ring to it. And I _was_ going to say goodbye to you."

"You're a terrific liar." Robb grins, but it's careful. "That's why I don't believe you."

I give him a look. "Alright, fine. Maybe I wasn't. I'm not very fond of goodbyes."

His face drops, the sudden shift taking me off guard.

"Don't leave," Robb says gently.

In this moment, the way he's looking at me, I want to tell him I could stay with him forever. But I know it's a naive dream and we are both meant for more.

"Don't do this, Robb." I sigh. "You know I'm not welcome here. It's best for everyone that I move on."

"Not for everyone," he corrects. "And you heard what Jon said. Sansa too."

"The people need to know that Winterfell is a place they can feel safe," I say. "And they're not going to be able to with a Lannister living within its bounds. You know that. When the war comes, I'll be here to fight alongside all of you should the gods permit it. Until then, this is farewell."

"Then let me come with you," he offers. "Or at least take Grey Wind for protection. I know you're strong enough to take care of yourself. I know that well, but I fear that you'll never reach the Wall."

I take his hands in mine. "Robb, you're needed here. You know as well as I that being among your family means everything to you. I will not be the one to part you from them. And as for Grey Wind," I stoop to kiss the wolf's nose. "The two of you have been separated long enough."

Robb tries to argue but falters, knowing I'm right. Before I can change my mind, I wrap my arms around him and hold him tightly.

"Don't trust Littlefinger," I whisper. "Watch him closely, but be vigilant. I feel that you will see Arya and Bran again in the near future. Trust your judgement and don't be afraid to show the people who you really are."

He holds me close.

"Thank you," he says. "For everything."

I release him and get onto my horse. Then I pause, feeling a new thought force its way into my mind. A thought from the Sight.

_Dragonglass._

I turn back to look at Robb. A sad smile rests on his face.

"I have two requests for the King in the North," I say.

He nods, waiting for me to continue.

"Should he travel to Dragonstone, tell him to please let my brother know I'm alive," I say. "I feel that Tyrion would like to know that."

"And the second request?"

"I know it sounds strange, but should you come across plenty of dragonglass, I'd like to acquire a weapon made of the material."

Robb looks at me with confusion but nods anyway. Grey Wind whines a little, taking a step towards me.

"Farewell, Robb Stark. Farewell, Grey Wind." I grip the reins. "We will meet again."

Even when I'm riding through the North Gate and far beyond the walls of Winterfell, I can hear the howl of Grey Wind carry through the winds. I can even hear the whisper of Robb Stark as he watches me fade into the distance.

"Farewell, Lysandra Lannister."


	16. The Lord of Light

_*this chapter includes Lysandra's POV as well as 3rd person encounters regarding the actions of other characters*_

**Winterfell**

Robb Stark stands alone, looking beyond the walls of Winterfell to the icy landscape of Northern Westeros. It feels strange to him, being reunited with his home after years of turmoil and bloodshed since he parted from it. He can still remember shooting arrows alongside his brothers Rickon and Bran; helping them learn alongside his bastard brother Jon Snow. He can still feel the joy in his heart when Arya surprised them all, hitting the center of the target while Bran struggled in vain to hit even a piece of it. It was the most prideful he had ever felt of his little sister, though he had only laughed in delight at the time.

Now Rickon is dead, killed by Roose Bolton's bastard son. He got his rightful end, as did his father before him. Though, if it were up to Robb, Roose would have died a far worse death than a mere dagger to the heart. Walder Frey and his family have been wiped from existence by an unknown face. Another light to be shed upon the dreary world.

"The Red Wedding has been avenged!" People cheered to him when they finally decided Robb wasn't some demonic entity conjured from the dark.

Avenged, indeed. But it changes nothing, at least that's what he told himself. If Lysandra were here with him now and heard his thoughts, she would chastise him. She would say that the Starks took the North from the Boltons, not just for their family, but for the people of the North; that the North has been freed from tyranny and _that_ in itself changes everything.

And, naturally, she'd be right.

It's strange how easily she seemed to understand him. He never could quite figure out what she was thinking, but she always read him so easily. Part of her training, he supposed, but deep down he knew it was more than that. They're connected somehow, now and always.

He sighs, closing his eyes and taking in the familiar scents and sounds of Winterfell.

"Are you pining for her already, brother?"

Robb looks to see Sansa approaching him unaccompanied, a teasing smile on her face.

She raises her eyebrows. "You know it's only been a few days."

"I do not _pine_ ," he says proudly. Then he says, "And it's been six." He returns the playful grin on her face. He looks back to the view ahead.

Sansa stands beside her brother and gingerly winds her arm through his.

"She'll be alright," she says, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "You needn't be so worried."

"I appreciate the comfort, sister." Robb pats her hand. "But I believe I'm the one who's supposed to be worrying about you." He shoots her a quick smirk.

Her smile fades just slightly, and she says, "I've survived much since we last saw one another."

Robb squeezes her hand before releasing it. He turns his gaze to the snowy hills and sighs. "I know."

Jon and Sansa told Robb all they could when he first settled into Winterfell. It was a lot to take in at once, though they told it to him as gently as they could. He wept at the loss of Rickon. He wept even moreso when he realized he could barely remember his little brother. Simply flashes of his smile, of his laugh. Nothing much beyond that. And Sansa... if only he had gotten to her sooner. If only he hadn't given up on fighting for his sisters. He believed them dead. Truly. And for that, he will never forgive himself. Everything that has happened to them is because he failed. He failed as their brother.

"We may have been parted long," Sansa says, rousing him from his trance. "But I know that look well. Don't blame yourself, Robb. Look at me." She takes his face, turning it to her gently but with a fierceness. "Do not blame yourself. We're here now. That's what matters."

Robb's eyes soften. "Not all of us."

The hurt in her eyes is evident as she thinks back to their lost family, but the fierceness in her voice and the determination on her face remains. She releases him.

"We cannot live in the past, brother," she says. "And we cannot dwell in it either. Not with what is waiting for us. We need to think about the next step for our people and for the family who is here now."

Robb can't help but feel a surge of pride when looking at her. She has grown into a young, intelligent and strong woman in his absence. She will be a better leader than he ever was, and he couldn't be more proud.

"I loved father just as you did," Sansa says. "But we have to be smarter than father, smarter than-" she stops herself.

"Smarter than me," Robb finishes with a sad smile.

She squeezes his hands, pity in her eyes.

"Yes," she says.

Robb's smile is warmer now. "Jon left you in charge for a reason."

"Only after he asked you."

He gives her a knowing look. "We both know he asked out of duty. Jon believes in your ability to lead... as do I." He motions to the city below. "As do our people. You'll lead them well in his absence. I have no doubt."

" _You_ should be leading," she says, but her voice is smaller. "You're Lord of Winterfell."

He shakes his head. "I may be a Lord by blood, but I have no place ruling anything. It's not something I desire anymore. Not after where I led my short reign."

Sansa doesn't say anything else, and he's glad for it. He was brought back for a reason, Lysandra made that perfectly clear. But it can't be to lead Winterfell or anything else for that matter. If he is to right his wrongs like he desires, he must do what is necessary. He must protect his family and his people. Perhaps even all of Westeros when it comes to the fight against the Night King. The stories Jon told were chilling, and Robb had fought many battles before. This is different and he knows it. Seeing the fear hidden behind Jon's eyes was proof enough for Robb.

"I'm to check on the happenings below," Sansa says, giving her brother a final pat on the arm. She starts to walk off when she turns to him. "Are you coming?"

"I'll be down in a bit."

"I need my advisor, you know."

"I doubt the people will see my advice fit."

"I don't care what people say," Sansa says. "You're my brother and I trust you."

Robb nods. "I'll join you by the courtyard soon. I promise... Lady Stark."

She smiles as her brother looks wistfully at the icy land beyond Winterfell.

"She'll come back," Sansa says. "I know a fighter when I see one."

He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes, keeping his focus on the far off ground. Sansa descends the stairs and heads to find Lord Royce.

Robb's thoughts drift to Lysandra, but in truth his mind doesn't stray far from the battle ahead. The battle Winterfell is not prepared for. The battle that needs the aid of a Dragon Queen, whether he likes it or not.

Winter is here, just like father said it would be.

**Lysandra**

**The Lonely Hills**

The horse that's been given to me, Fidelis, proves to be the strongest horse I have ever ridden. He'll march clear into the night, knowing where to go without the slightest notion of provoking. Quite a long time may pass before he needs a rest. Some nights I even strap myself firmly to his back as I take a quick sleep through nightfall. I've learned to take sleep as it comes, leaving me able to rise when need be and keep sleep to the bare minimum. The two of us make a productive pair on our journey. There's quite a ways to go, but it won't be much longer till we reach the Wall.

The cold is still just bearable to me. I was hoping I'd be used to it by now, but I suppose it will come with time. The furs keep me comfortable enough, and my hair is beginning to grow out once again just shielding the base of my neck. Perhaps I'll keep it at this length, at least while I'm in the North. Short enough to not be a hazard in battle, but long enough to provide some warmth against the icy air. The more tactical the better.

A part of me is scared to go to the Wall, as I am not certain what my purpose is there. I only know that it is where I am to go. I will provide whatever services I must for the battle of the Night King, and I will use the faces given to me if I have to in order to slip by without prevention. I grow tired of trusting something I cannot see, but because of this being, Robb is now reunited with his family. I must keep my eyes sharp and my blade at the ready for when the voices call.

I sit beneath a dead tree, eating just enough of the dried meat and root vegetables to keep me strong. Fidelis waits patiently nearby, snacking on a carrot I've given him. I smile at him.

"If you were in the South," I say to the horse. "I'd give you plenty of fruit. Especially apples. The Northern food is so dull."

Fidelis huffs, turning his face away from me.

I nod. "You're right, boy. Apologies. We should be grateful for what we have."

I smile in spite of myself. Look at me now, talking to a horse to pass the time.

Then Fidelis's head snaps to the right of us, down the path we've just taken. I hear it too, footsteps and voices. Horses and men, a small group of them. No more than three or four.

I close my pack, stuffing the food I was eating inside. I sling it over the horse and stand at attention, my hand not far from my sword. The voices are calm, though some agitation is evident on the surface. They've likely been travelling a long way, though I cannot guess where.

Two men appear on horseback, each wrapped with heavy cloth and furs. I recognize their faces, but I can't quite place where I know them from. They come to a halt when the see me, looking upon me with curiosity. I feel a strange pull towards them, but my caution wins out. I stand my ground, keeping my movements easy without causing any unnecessary alarm.

One of the men with a top knot in his hair and a scraggly beard gestures to me.

"I recognize this one," he says with a slight slur. "This one's a Lannister." He grins to himself. "The black sheep."

It takes everything in me to not draw my sword here and now. I for myself to remain at ease.

The other man, with a patch covering one eye, looks at me more intently now, squinting his eye as if to see if I'm hiding something. He seems to look through me, which somehow unsettles me even more.

"A Lannister," he says curiously.

I hear another horse approaching, with heavy footsteps walking beside it.

"Clegane," the man with the eyepatch calls. "We've got another wanderer here. Thoros says she's a Lannister."

My reach for my sword falters and my pulse quickens against my ribcage.

Clegane. Surely not-

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, steps into view, walking his horse beside him. He looks thoroughly irritated with having been called upon, his face pinching at the sight of the man even speaking to him.

"Fuck off," the Hound grumbles. "I don't-"

That's when he sees me, and his jaw slackens ever so slightly. He's unable to finish his sentence. He grips the reins in his hand tighter and shakes his head in an almost imperceptible manner.

"No fucking way," he says.

I take a step towards him.

"Sandor?" I say in disbelief.

He looks so different, and yet exactly the same from when I saw him years ago at King's Landing. Our parting was bitter before I left for the Twins. I had kissed him not long before I was sent away, and he did not take to it kindly. Though it was a brief interaction, he made sure to avoid me long before the boat arrived, not bothering to say goodbye. A piece of my heart broke, but I knew it wasn't about me. Sandor would never allow himself to be happy. Not with the hatred of his brother forever hanging over his head.

And looking at him now, I know none of that matters. My friend, though horrible as he may be, is alive and in front of me. And before I can stop myself, I run to him and embrace him tightly. He doesn't return it and his limbs are stiff as can be, but his hands cautiously touch my back as if to check if I'm real. When I release him, he grabs my arms roughly.

"I thought you dead," he growls. "They say you died in King's Landing after Tywin was killed. For fuck's sake, what are you doing here?"

I nearly laugh at the shock in his eyes.

"I escaped to Essos. Now, I have business at the Wall."

Sandor furrows his eyebrows. I can tell he's trying to detect a lie. He shakes his head in disbelief, still taking in my appearance.

"We're headed there as well," the one called Thoros says.

"Perhaps the lady should accompany us," the other companion says. "It isn't a coincidence we've crossed paths. The Lord of Light wants us unified in our quest ahead."

"Will you shut your hole, Beric?" the Hound snaps.

I turn to Beric, who looks at me knowingly.

"The Lord of Light," I repeat.

He nods. "You've been sent by him as well."

"I'm told I've been sent by the Many-Faced God."

He smiles. "Then let us not disappoint our calling. I must insist you accompany us."

The Hound releases my arms and shakes his head.

"She's not coming with us," he says. Then adds, somewhat hastily, "she'll only slow us down."

I narrow my eyes at him. "We'll see."

**Lysandra**

**Beyond Last Hearth**

It's entertaining to see the relationship between Sandor, Beric, and Thoros as we continue the journey North. It's clear that Beric and Thoros have been friends for a long time, whereas the relationship with Sandor is not exactly new, but still rocky. It calms me to hear Beric and Thoros discuss the Lord of Light. It proves that I'm not entirely alone in my endeavor, though our journeys may separate again soon. Still, I appreciate the company. It's not necessarily a pleasant trip, especially by one's self. I'll be thankful when we reach our destination.

"You died _six_ times?"

"About that, yes."

I shake my head. "And why do you believe this... Lord of Light has chosen you?"

Beric gets a pained expression on his face.

"I ask myself that every day, my lady."

"I can't believe that fucker Robb is alive," the Hound says, adjusting his furs. "What, are resurrections being given out to anyone these days?"

"The Lord chose him for a reason," Beric says. "It's not our place to know why or for what purpose."

The Hound ignores him, nodding at me. "And now you see things?"

"More or less," I say, giving him a teasing smile.

He shakes his head. "You're going to get yourself killed coming with us."

"I could get myself killed a lot of ways. But it's good to know you care."

He isn't amused, but there's a gleam of mischief in his eye as we ride on. When he sees I'm still smiling at him, he narrows his eyes.

"You think you're charming, don't you?" he says. "Charm isn't going to keep you alive. Whatever is beyond that wall could break you in half and have itself a nice feast."

I shake my head, still smiling.

"Sandor, I'm too happy to see you to take offense to anything you say. You're lucky I only embraced you once."

"Don't do it again."

I grant him some relief and turn my gaze up ahead, but the smile doesn't leave my face for some time. It's then that I see Beric looking at me as he slows his horse to ride beside me.

"You can feel it, can't you?" he asks. "It's as if we've met before."

"Yes," I admit. "It's strange. I suppose it's because our god wills it so."

"And they're taking us to the Wall for the darkness to come?"

"I suppose. What I've seen..." I shake my head. "Westeros will need all the help it can get, starting with the North."

"So you've seen them too? The undead?"

I nod. "My visions, this Sight I have, it shows me only what it deems I need to see. And the Night King is far beyond any foe ever been faced."

The sight of the Wall chills me deeply as I think about the terrifying blue eyes. Beyond that wall, somewhere, he's waiting. He's biding his time. I can feel it. I also feel the weight that the Wall has carried for many years. It will fall. Not yet, perhaps, but soon.

Too soon.

**Lysandra**

**Eastwatch-by-the-Sea**

As I lay in silence on a bench in my shared cell, I think of Robb and how he must be feeling back in Winterfell. It's strange for him, I'm sure, but he'll adapt. He's always been so good at that. I miss him as my companion. I believe I could travel with him anywhere, fight any battle with him, for however long and still look at him the same way as I do to this day, if only in my memories at the present.

I look to Thoros, Beric, and Sandor making themselves as comfortable as they possibly can. I'd guess that Sandor is sleeping if I didn't know better. He looks strangely peaceful, as if getting locked in a cell by an angry, ginger-haired Wildling is just another day for him. I tried to tell the Wildling I knew Jon Snow, who let me roam to the Wall freely, but he just scoffed and shoved me in here with the rest of them. I've never met Wildlings before, but I've heard of their bloodthirsty ways. Still, they don't frighten me. Especially not the one who orchestrated throwing us in here. Tormund, I believe his name was.

I could've slipped away during the ambush, I know that. I could've slipped into the shadows unnoticed, but I couldn't leave the trio behind. Especially not after running into Sandor after all this time.

"How long do you think they'll hold us here?" Thoros asks no one in particular.

"Until we rot away," the Hound replies.

I smirk. "You sound content with that, old friend."

"Not content. Just saying what everyone's thinkin'."

"There's so many things I wanted to do," I mock. "Dance. Sing. Write literature. Possibly kill my sister."

"I'm beginning to put together how the two of you became friends," Beric muses.

"We're not friends," Sandor growls.

I lean my head up, shooting him a pointed look. "That. I take offense to that."

"Good."

A door down the hall opens and heavy footsteps make their way to our cell. I see the Wildling first.

"My scouts found them a mile South of the Wall," Tormund says. "Said they were on their way here." He gestures to me. "This one said she knew you."

I sit up to adjust my focus to the darkness beyond the bars.

"Lysandra?" Jon says. Then he looks at Tormund. "She does know me. Why is she confined?"

The Wildling looks between me and Jon sheepishly. I smile at the King.

"Your Grace," I say, with a slight bow of my head. "Always a pleasure."

"Your Grace?" the Hound huffs as he sits up. He shoots me a look.

I gesture to Jon. "He's the King in the North."

"You're the Hound," Jon says. "I saw you once at Winterfell."

Sandor sizes him up, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Tormund clears his throat. "They want to go beyond the Wall too."

"We don't want to go, we have to," Beric says. "Our Lord needs us to."

"Don't trust him," a younger man says, stepping up. "Don't trust any of them. They're the Brotherhood. They last thing their Lord told me to do was sell me to red witch to be murdered."

I look at the three of them. "You did that?"

"I didn't do shit," the Hound says.

"Thoros," another man says in surprise. Thoros slowly moves further into view. "I hardly recognized you."

As the two men exchange a few words, I realize the man who recognizes Thoros is Ser Jorah Mormont before Thoros even says his name. I barely remember him before he was sent as a spy to Essos, but I remember how handsome I thought he was. It's strange now, looking back on those memories. He betrayed Robert Baratheon in favor of the Dragon Queen, or so I gathered. Perhaps Jon went to Dragonstone after all. Of course he did. It's the best move for the North.

Tormund and Jorah get into a tense conversation about him being a Mormont, as Ser Jorah's father was the last Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

"Ser Jorah," I say, finally standing.

He gives me a leveled, knowing look.

"Lady Lysandra."

I raise an eyebrow. "You remember me?"

"The Golden Heart," he says in reply. "You spent most of your time hiding away and training down by the water."

"You're known as a traitor in King's Landing."

"I would expect as much."

"Was it worth it?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

I smile.

"Are we coming with you or not?" the Hound snaps, his calm demeanor clearly diminishing.

"Don't you want to know what we're doing?" Ser Jorah asks.

"You need to go beyond the Wall," I say, trying to lower the tension. "There's something you need to bring back, and you don't have enough men." I look to Jon. "We're the best you've got, Your Grace. Let us help."

Jon is taken aback by my knowledge of the mission, but he gathers himself quickly. After a moment, Jon nods.

"We're all the same side," he says.

"How can we be?" the young man asks in disbelief.

"We're all breathing."

Once we all leave the cell and go somewhere warmer, Jon tells us the plan of capturing a wight and bringing it to King's Landing in order to prove to Cersei the dangers ahead. It's the only hope that is left in order to guarantee more troops when the battle against the Night King comes.

"Even if my sister agrees to send her troops North," I say. "There's no guarantee she'll follow through on her promise. She can't be trusted."

"You may be right," Jon replies. "But we've got no other choice. We have to try. Tyrion seems to think she'll see reason if her life is on the line."

"He's not wrong," I say. "But I still don't like putting our lives in the hands of-"

"A Lannister like you?" the one named Gendry says, his tone harsh.

"I was going to say an evil bitch," I say calmly. "But yes, I suppose that works too."

As the rest of the men convene, Jon pulls me aside near the fire.

"It's good to see you," he says genuinely, touching my arm for a moment. "I have something for you."

He hands me a quiver filled with black arrows. I gently take it from him, running my hands along the base of the arrows. I look up at him.

"Dragonglass?"

He smiles. "Robb passed your message along. Said you were a good shot."

I laugh and shake my head.

"I'm just glad you found what you were looking for. Thank you."

"It's the least I could do after what you did for my family."

I think of Tyrion. "How is my brother?"

"Well," Jon replies. "A lot better than you might think, being Hand of the Queen. When I told him of your journey, he said he wasn't surprised. He said you were always the one to go running towards the fire, even as children."

That definitely sounds like something Tyrion would say.

"Thank you for telling me," I say. "Well, it's a good thing my sword is Valyrian steel. We're heading out soon, yes?"

He studies me cautiously. "Robb said you're a good fighter, but you've never fought a wight, Lady Lysandra. It's a lot easier to say you'll be brave before actually seeing what these things are like, what they're capable of. They're nothing like you've fought before."

I narrow my eyes. "Are you telling me to stay behind, Your Grace?"

"Would you listen?"

"No. Are you giving me an order?"

"I fucking hope so," the Hound says, making us turn to him. "Sorry, lioness. You'll be a liability out there."

I step towards him, not cowering a bit. "You don't know me, not anymore. None of you do." I look at the men around me. "You have no idea what my capabilities are. I will not stay behind."

"Have you ever fought in a battle, my lady?" Jorah asks, though not unkindly.

I hesitate. While I've killed and fought many men, it is true I have never been a part of a battle. And for a moment, I begin to think their concerns may be warranted. But the Sight sends this courage into me that I haven't felt since I left Winterfell. I'm meant to go beyond the Wall. It is my duty.

"If I prove to be a liability," I say slowly, looking around the room. "If I prove to fight poorly, or slow you down in any way, then leave me behind when that moment comes. But like it or not, you need me at your side. I'm going with you."

I look to Jon now. "I swore to serve you and your family. Let me honor that now."

He looks hesitant, no doubt thinking of Robb and what he would say.

Finally, he sighs.

With a nod, he says, "We need all the help we can get."


	17. Lands of Always Winter

The wind whips against our faces, making tears fall from my eyes as we enter the first part of our journey. My heart is beating fast, though I don't know if it's from fear or anticipation. All I can see is an icy blue ahead, as the blowing snow makes it impossible to see but a few feet in front of us. We're all wearing more layers than we did before. My bow and arrows are secured safely over my shoulder; the wolf dagger hidden in my torso and my sword hanging firmly on my hip. The new gloves I've acquired keep my fingers from growing numb so easily.

I hate to admit it, but the others were right. I'm a foreigner in the North. I'm a summer child. I've never experienced such harshness as of now. The wind chill is far worse beyond the Wall, as if waiting to claim your life within the slightest mistake. I'm told the winds will be less harsh the further we go but it seems like it will never die out. Regardless of my discomfort, I keep my mouth shut unless spoken to. It's easier for me to focus on my next step and I believe the others feel the same way.

Shards of ice protrude the smooth surface within a few feet ahead. We'll need to maneuver them to the best of our abilities. There is no way around them, only through. There's a moment's hesitation when we reach them as the others try to decipher the best way to go. I study the cracks and the spaces between the shards. We need a path that will not only hold the weight of a large man, but allow him to pass through.

I walk a few paces away from the men, carefully testing out a few crevices. I find a space that will allow someone three times my size to pass through and I tactically stomp my boot against the weak spots of the ice. Solid.

"This way," I say loudly to them over the wind.

I wave my hand before heading through myself, keeping my feet light and my knees slightly bent to brace for any impact. Speed, agility, light-footed. Those were what Rewan said were my best assets in a fight. He said it was something I would use the most in the journeys ahead. I can't help but think about him now.

When I finally reach the end of the long, jagged path, I turn to wait for the rest of the group. Gendry is the first one through and he barely gives me a second glance as I point to where he needs to step. Next is Beric and Thoros, then the Hound. They step gingerly where I point them to and make it safely through, though Sandor's weight causes the ice to shift slightly. A few more men come through before Tormund, who stumbles a bit. Then Ser Jorah, with Jon being the last to pass through the ice.

Jon motions for me to go first. I wave him to go on but he insists. I step through the ice and gesture to the area he should step, on the other side of the crack that has now formed in the ground. He follows my instructions until he's standing safely beside me. Then we all press further on.

After walking for a while, the winds die down and the sun comes out up above. The cold has only slightly lessened but we can see clearly for leagues up ahead. The men talk to their companions as we make our way toward the mountains, but I remain silent. Jon and Jorah talk about their fathers, Gendry confronts the Brotherhood about their treachery, and Tormund is apparently obsessed with Brienne of Tarth.

I wish I could send a raven to Robb, or rather him to me. I'm certain he'd like to know how we're all fairing out here. I doubt he even knows we've gone beyond the Wall.

I feel this heaviness weighing inside me as we move closer to the mountains. There's something sinister lurking there. I can feel the presence of our foe, whether it be the White Walkers or the Night King himself. It's the first time since Braavos that I've felt true fear. That in itself frightens me, but I keep my thoughts to myself.

"Are you all right, my lady? You look troubled."

I look up to see that I've walked to the front near Jorah and Jon. They look at me expectantly and I realize it's Ser Jorah who's spoken.

"I'm alright," I say. "Just not entirely fond of the cold is all."

"Good," the Hound calls from the back. "You should have stayed at fucking Eastwatch."

I roll my eyes, shooting him a look from over my shoulder.

Jorah nods politely at my response, but Jon still eyes me curiously. I notice a small, white horn hanging just below Jorah's waist.

"Afraid of not being heard?" I jest. He smiles.

"In Essos, it's called the Horn of Andals. A name the Dothraki gave. It's small, but its sound is monstrous. It's aided me in battle more than once."

"I can imagine."

"What you did back there," Jorah says. "where did you learn to maneuver like that?"

"I trained in Braavos," I reply. I smile a little. "But in truth, I learned it just being among my siblings."

"How so?" Jon asks.

"My brother Jaime and I were always venturing off when we were young." I shake my head fondly. "He'd show me all the secret spots around the land. Tyrion enjoyed finding the nooks and crannies of every structure, and Cersei..." I trail off a moment, a bitter taste in my mouth. "Cersei always wanted to be taught something new."

"And you're willing to go against your family?" Jorah asks.

"Have you _met_ my family?"

"Surely you don't share hatred for all of them. Tyrion, for one."

"I loved my father, but he was an evil man," I say. "The Lannister name has bred many forms of evil and for that very reason, the name itself has become a burden. I loved my niece Myrcella and my nephew Tommen, but I barely knew them because of how often I was sent away, and now they're gone forever. Joffrey was evil. My sister is evil. My brothers... I don't wish harm upon them."

"Your brother Jaime attacked my father in the streets a while back," Jon says, but his voice isn't as harsh as his words.

"I know that." I nod. "But I also know that he did that for our family. You have to understand, Jaime has his faults but he isn't like Cersei or my father and nowhere near the kind of person Joffrey was. Do I think we can trust him? Probably not. But I feel that I owe him a great many things. He always protected me when we were young."

"Until you were sold to the Freys," Jon says.

The words stick like a dagger, though I know he means no offense. The mere memory of Jaime's involvement, even Tyrion's, in my journey to the Twins still twists in my heart. But I now know that without that small treachery, I would not be where I am today.

"It was for the best, I suppose," I say. "It brought me to your brother. To Braavos. Here with all of you. We've all done things we regret, experienced things we wish we could forget, but it's no use focusing on them now."

"Wise words, my lady," Ser Jorah says, a kind look in his eyes. "If only it were as easy to follow them."

"Yes..." My thoughts drift to Jallen. "One day, perhaps."

"I've noticed you talk of your sister with the most malice," Jon says. "Was she ever kind?"

I smirk. "Not really. She enjoyed getting others into trouble. Father always taught us that kindness was weakness. Cersei always listened to him. I could have overlooked the vile things she said and did, even to me occasionally. But no, any malice you hear when I speak of her runs far deeper than any sibling rivalry."

When the two men remain silent, I continue.

"Long ago, out of jealousy, my sister sent guards to defile me," I explain, keeping my voice steady. "All of Westeros knew the rumors about me, I'm sure you both heard of them at some point. It was then that I knew there would be no relationship between me and Cersei. That's when I gave up on trying to be her sister. We share Lannister blood, but nothing more."

I can feel them looking at me differently, but it doesn't last long. When they speak, their voices are soft but sincere.

"I'm sorry," Jon says, clearly regretting he mentioned anything in the first place.

Jorah bows his head slightly. "Deeply."

"Don't be," I say. "When I was with the Faceless Men, they taught me to distance myself with who I was, but not before healing from the secrets I carry. That passage of my life will always be a part of me. There is nothing I can do but accept it."

"But I'm sure you still want your sister's head for it," Ser Jorah says.

"In a way, yes. But she's a threat to all the Seven Kingdoms. She'll destroy everything that has been built because of her own selfishness and lack of diplomacy. She's never cared for the people, only herself." I sigh. "I fear the only way this will end will be with her death."

The three of us are silent for a while, listening to Sandor and Tormund exchange quips back and forth and Beric speak to Thoros and others about the possible plans of the Lord of Light. Then, just as I'm beginning to drift off into more dark thoughts about the White Walkers and the Night King lying somewhere ahead, Jorah pulls me back to the present.

"I'm glad you're with us, my lady."

I look to him and a soft smile rests on his face. Jon looks at me then, too. He's looking at me fondly in a way that only a friend can look at another friend. Someone to be trusted and listened to. His eyes are warm and he nods at Jorah.

"As am I," Jon says.

I smile at them. Then I encourage them both to tell their stories. How Jon became King in the North and how Jorah became an Advisor to the Dragon Queen. Jon also tells me about journeying to Dragonstone and what happened there. They are things I know pieces of due to the Sight, but it doesn't make hearing the tales firsthand any less enjoyable... or terrifying.

***

The winds pick up again as the sky darkens, making the new blizzard that much more difficult to walk through. We shield our faces and trudge forward the best we can as the winds whip tears from our eyes. Gendry knocks into me but quickly catches me before I can tumble into anyone else. His animosity towards me has lessened, though I reckon it's because of the dangers ahead.

The wind not only make it difficult to see, but hard to hear. I can hear Tormund mumbling something in front of me as the group comes to a stop. They're looking at something in the distance, something that a man from our party is walking straight towards. Gendry says something to us that is lost in the wind. I only see what the others do when it's far too late.

A bear; a large, _undead_ bear comes charging out of nowhere, ripping into the man ahead of us in mere seconds. Jon runs to the location only to see a large smear of blood trailing the ice. I pull my sword from its sheath immediately as we all stand shoulder to shoulder in a circle of protection. It's silent as we wait for the charge. It's silent for so long that I almost think the thing was satisfied with just one of us, but the warning in my heart says otherwise.

Then it happens. Another one of our party is ripped from the group as the bear tears into him, flinging him from its mouth only after snapping the poor man's back with its long teeth. The sight is horrific. The bear looks half eaten alive with glowing blue eyes. Its size is twice the amount of any bear I've ever seen. Its ribs stick sickeningly from its body as it advances on the others.

Everyone springs into action at once. Beric and Thoros's blades alight with flame as they run to fight the beast as it flings another member far off into the distance. I sheath my sword just before I fall to the earth, the ground shaking from the pursuit of the bear nearby. I force myself to my feet. I push my fear to the back of my mind before it gets a chance to take me over completely. I reach for my bow and nock an arrow with trembling hands.

Most of the bear is on fire now, but that doesn't stop it from ripping into Thoros's chest. The Hound stands there in fear, cowering away from the flame despite Thoros's need of aid. I take a breath and let the arrow fly. It lodges into its shoulder, causing it to let out a roar of pain and retreat from Thoros. It locks eyes with me and lets out another roar before it charges. I quickly nock another arrow, knowing there is nowhere to run even though it's the smartest thing to do. I let another arrow soar just before I'm dragged backwards by unseen arms, falling with the person as the bear swipes the air.

I've hit the eye, making the bear whip its head around in a frantic attempt at dislodging it. It makes another attempt at a kill, this time Gendry, before Jorah drives a small blade into the bear's neck. It falls almost instantly, mouth agape in eternal rage.

Now sitting up, my hand rests over my heart as I feel it beating even through my furs. We all breath heavily, and it's only when I've gathered my bearings that I realize who pulled me from harm's way. Jon sits behind me, Tormund not standing far off. I nod at Jon and he clasps my shoulder. We get to our feet and as Gendry and Beric examine Thoros's damage, I retrieve my arrows from the bear's corpse.

I stand away from the others as they group around Thoros. He drinks from his flask and Beric sears his wounds with his sword. He helps his friend up before the party decides to head towards where the bear was first sighted. I notice the Hound still standing in the same place as we watches Beric help Thoros to his feet. I walk over to him and stand beside him as we watch the others.

"Don't fucking say what I already know."

"I didn't say anything."

"It doesn't matter," Sandor growls. "I don't need your pity or your help."

"You think I pity you?" I snap, turning to him. "I don't. Thoros may die because of you. What's done is done. You want to be cold bastard to everyone who tries to care for you? Go right ahead. Just stick to the mission and stay away from me."

I march off towards the group.

***

Long after the blizzard calms and the sun lights our path again, Jon and Tormund pick up on something they hear in the distance. I know what it is before we even approach them, for the growing fear in my heart has grown stronger the further we trek through the mountains. A White Walker, leading a trail of wights behind him. It's the first time I've seen one in-person. His hair is long and white, his face is sunken in, almost skull-like. The eyes glow a powerful blue, and there are multiple weapons strapped to his sides.

The Walker watches as its followers march in formation ahead of him. He senses something, that is clear, but we duck from view long before he gets the chance to spot us. Still, he's more on his guard now, waiting for something to strike from the shadows. This is when Jon comes up with the idea to lure them with a distraction. Something that would never be found here in their territory.

A fire.

"What if there's more of them?" Gendry asks.

"There's plenty more," Jon says. "But Tormund is right. If we wait too long, we'll be outnumbered in seconds."

"We may not get another chance," I say. "It has to be now. The Night King may already know we're here. These are his lands... and we're trespassing."

The others look at me.

"You've never even been this far North," Gendry says.

"No. But I've seen him... in a vision. It was like he could see me too." I look at Jon. "I know it sounds strange, but I think he knew we were coming."

"That's comforting," the Hound says.

I ignore him. Jon nods to me.

"All the more reason to get moving."

The fire ploy works, and the Walker and his wights are distracted when we burst forth from behind the small hill.

Jon immediately clashes with the White Walker and it's amazing to see his swordsmanship in action. He's strong, yet agile. His movements are tamed with mad fury. The others collide with wights, and I draw my sword as another one comes running wildly at me. I stab it through the chest, then use my wolf dagger to twist into its neck. Another knocks me to the ground and I'm astonished by how strong these creatures are. The sword flies from my hand as the creature tries to sink its teeth into my face. Struggling, I hold it away from me by its shoulders. My wolf dagger is still lodged in the other wight's corpse and I can't reach the other one I have with this thing bearing down on me. Mustering all my strength, I let out a cry as I hold the creature at bay with one hand, and reach for the wolf dagger. My fingers can just graze it.

I see Gendry hacking down wights with his large axe, and the Hound wrestling with two of them at once. Jon is gaining the upper hand with the White Walker, but its speed has a slight advantage over him. As I struggle, I see a wight holding Jorah up by the throat. He tries in vain to fight the thing off, but without a weapon it's pointless. The wight above me roars with a shrill scream as it pushes against me, gaining an inch or two near my face. My hand clasps around the creature's throat and it shakes rapidly.

My fingers wrap around the hilt of my dagger.

With one last burst of strength, I grasp it and fling it at the wight holding onto Jorah. It lodges just below the shoulder, loosening its grip enough for Jorah to lurch from its grasp. I see him grab his sword when I feel teeth sink into the flesh just below my throat. I yell, grabbing my attacker's throat with both of my hands and pushing with all of my might.

Suddenly, a swing of metal sings in the air, followed by the sound of shattered ice. The wight above me crumbles, its head falling off and the rest of its body collapsing lifelessly onto mine. I quickly push the remains off of me and sit up, panting hard. I see that the rest of them have fallen as well. Jon has destroyed the White Walker. I press my hand onto my bloodied neck. Not as much damage as there could have been. After I stop the bleeding, if I don't get healing help, it will surely get infected. But that's the least of my worries.

A lone wight stands in the center of a circle the men have been forming around it. Wincing, I push myself to my feet. They push it, throwing it off its balance just before Tormund lands a hard punch to its skull. It falls to the ground and immediately the Hound sprawls himself onto it. Someone grabs its legs, Jorah grabs one of its arms and I quickly scramble to hold down the other. My blood drips onto the fresh fallen snow. Jorah's eyes find mine, and then they look to my wound. As the wight lets out a shrill scream, we're both drawn back to the matter at hand.

The Hound is able to stifle the scream with his hand, but the damage has already been done. Now we've surely announced to the Night King and every wight and White Walker that we're here. Jon sends Gendry off in a hurry, telling him to get a raven sent to Daenerys Targaryen as soon as he reaches Eastwatch. Jorah puts a sack over the wight's head and we haul the thing to its feet. A storm in the distance grows heavy with clouds and hidden thunder. But there is more than a storm coming for us.

The Hound slings the wight over his shoulder. As the rumbling grows louder, we break off into a run, heading for the frozen water ahead. I look back to see a swarm of undead not far behind us. I spy the mountaintops ahead of us and surrounding the area. Without warning, I break off from the group. I run through the mountain pathways, darting around edges in hopes of not being spotted by the enemy. The men don't see me change direction since I've been behind them.

I need to get to higher ground.

I trail the edges of the highest hills, running on both solid and uneven ground. I'm out of breath but I keep running, grasping onto deep gashes in the ice. I trail along the side and hoist myself higher and higher until I reach the top. Then I keep running, repeating the process with yet another hill. I don't stop until I can't go any higher, and by then I'm panting so hard I feel that my heart will beat straight out of my chest. I collapse onto the hard snow, allowing myself only a moment before pushing myself to my feet. I cautiously look over the edge and my blood runs cold.

The undead have my group surrounded down below. I'm high enough to see them clearly, but I'm too far to see what kind of condition they're in. They're stuck on solid patch of ground risen above the frozen water, only now the ice is broken is many places. That and the undead will keep anyone from getting out of here alive. If I announce myself now, I'll die right along with them. The wights have stopped and are standing eerily still, as if waiting for the men to come to them instead of the other way around.

They're waiting. Waiting for their King.

I duck down and close my eyes. I focus on Gendry, on the message he was supposed to send, on the Dragon Queen, but it's the thought of Tyrion that allows the Sight to take over. Someone I'm close to, someone I have a strong connection with. My thoughts drift to Dragonstone...

I see Tyrion walking after Queen Daenerys, pleading for her to stay. He tells her that sometimes doing nothing is the best thing.

"I understand it is difficult to do nothing," he says. "But if we lose you, this will all be in vain. If we lose you, we lose everything."

"You told me do nothing before and I listened," she says, her voice calm and regal. She's truly a beautiful sight. "I'm not doing nothing again."

"My Queen, please-"

"Your sister is among them," Daenerys says, her tone sharp. "Will you still stay my hand?"

The shocked look on Tyrion's face, his hesitancy, is enough of an answer for her. She climbs onto her monstrous dragon and the beast takes flight, followed by two other dragons. They leave Tyrion alone on the cliff, staring up at the sky with tears in his eyes.

I gasp for air as I'm pulled back to reality. It worked. She's coming. Jon's faith was not misplaced, but will she get here in time?

***

Night has fallen and I wish I could tell them. I wish I could tell them that I haven't deserted them. That the Queen is on her way. That I'm up here solely to protect them, to watch over them. And if they think I'm dead, I hope they don't blame themselves. When I die, it will be because of my own actions. My own choices. The blame won't lay on anyone else but me.

More wights have swarmed a little way's down below my hiding spot, staring at the ranging party trapped on their little island. I just have to be patient and wait for the opportune moment, and my gut tells me there won't be one till morning. _He_ isn't here yet, and they'll wait for him to arrive before they fulfill any orders. He wants to be here when they all suffer. He wants to be there when he's rid of them forever, rid of Jon Snow.

I close my eyes and focus again, but I don't think of the Night King. I don't reach out to the Dragon Queen or even Tyrion.

I think of Robb.

I see him, looking strong and fierce as ever. He stands besides Sansa, and someone I know is Arya. They're holding a trial for someone, though I can't see who. I wish I could tell him all he means to me, that I wouldn't be who I am today without him. I wish I could tell him that I don't want to die, that I wish my journey didn't end here... but I fear I may never see him again.

For a moment, he looks directly at me. It's as if, for the briefest time, he senses me. But as quickly as it's there, it's gone, and he looks back at the traitor Sansa is addressing.

The night has taken over completely, but I know I mustn't fall asleep. I must watch and wait, it is all there is to do. I can't see the group or the wights anymore, just silhouettes from a cloudless moon in the sky. When I look at it, I think of the journey across the sea with Robb and Grey Wind. I hope they're well. I hope, at the end of this, they survive. I hope they all survive, these people I've grown to care for, but I sense with the Sight that Thoros will be dead by morning. He won't be the only one to fall in the Night King's war.

Perhaps we all will fall.

***

Thoros's body is burned in the early morning. The wights move closer in, but they're waiting for something. It's unclear for what, until he arrives. He arrives on horseback, a blue demon of ice. Fear strikes through me at the sight of him. I keep my face hidden from view, watching the scene below through the safety of the cracks. It won't be long now.

And as soon as I think it, the wights begin their slow journey to the island. The ice holds their weight now and they waste no time in advancing. Sandor is the first to attack, swinging Gendry's axe and knocking one of them to the side with ease. The creatures advance on the group, but they're ready for them. They cut down every one they come across, driving their Valyrian steel and dragonglass into them. Beric sets them aflame with his sword.

My eyes dart from side to side, watching their movements intently. All of the wights are running to them now from all angles as the Night King watches with satisfaction. They fight as much as they can before retreating to the highest point of the island. That's when I see Tormund attacked by multiple at once. He's fighting them, but they've gained the upper hand. A few more moments and he'll be slaughtered or dragged under the ice.

I stand from my hiding spot, readying my bow and arrow. I focus on the direction of the wind, fading out the screeches of the wights and the battle yells of the men. I angle it slightly to the right... then I release. The wight hovering over Tormund's face falls dead instantly, an arrow sticking out from its neck. Tormund scrambles away from the rest of them just as the Hound kills the others trying to pull Tormund away. They both look up at the mountains, just briefly, before retreating with the others to the other side of the island.

Another advances from behind Jorah while he's already preoccupied with two wights in front. I ready my aim and release, sinking the arrow into the thing's back. Jorah turns to see the dead wight before finishing off the other two. Another jumps at Jon, latching onto his back. I aim again, working with the wind, and send an arrow straight into the creature spine. Jon throws the thing off him in time to cut through another wight.

I ready another arrow, watching the party closely. My arrow moves from person to person, watching their blind spots for them. We just have to hold out long enough... maybe they can make it through this. But as more and more wights surround the group, my hope sinks into my stomach. No amount of arrows or swords will save them.

I reach into my furs and pull out the Horn of Andals. I didn't mean to steal it, at least not until I was certain I had to be separated from the group. I hoped it wouldn't come to this... but there is no other way.

With as much breath as I can gather, I blow the horn loudly into the sky. The sound rings proudly and true in the air, echoing all throughout the land. I take another breath and blow another strong sound in the air. Shrieking follows the strange quiet that follows and I step higher onto the peak that I'm on. I blow the horn again.

A large portion of the wights, more than half of the gathering, races towards the ground far below me. I know it won't take them long to get to me but I just need to keep moving. I need to draw as many of them away for as long as possible. I see the group look at me before I start running, jumping over the edges and onto another, stumbling as I go. I blow the horn again and rid myself from the heavy furs weighing me down.

The first wight reaches me, latching onto my ankle, and I cut it down with one swipe of my sword. The others begin crawling up towards me, while the ones on the ground continue to run wherever I go. I climb higher up, nearly slipping when I place my foot on slick ice. I hoist myself up higher. I look to the men still fighting many wights. One begins crawling up the island right behind the Hound as he takes on three more, while keeping the captured wight out of reach.

I hurriedly nock another arrow and focus. All it will take is one bite to the ankle, one pull of the leg and Sandor will fall into the multitude of wights below. I close my eyes for a moment.

I can do this. These men will not die while I am here. I will do what I must until it is my last breath. Even when all hope is lost. I serve the Stark family, the King in the North. I serve my allies, my friends. I serve the good of Westeros. I serve the Many-Faced God.

My eyes open and I release the arrow. It sails through the air and I gasp as the arrow lights on fire mid-flight. It lands in the eye of the wight and the thing falls down below, setting a few more of his comrades on fire. My hands shake and I can see the shock register on Beric's face who is nearby. I quickly nock another arrow, and this time it immediately catches fire, simply dancing over my readied hand. The flame does not harm me.

I aim at a wight who is charging at me, releasing the arrow into its chest. I go to grab another one but there's only two left. I ready my sword and pull my dagger out. More and more are swarming below me, crawling up to me. They'll reach me soon. I take a breath and begin cutting down the ones that reach the top. I spin out of one's reach, kicking it in the face so it falls into more down below. Another lunges at me, knocking me to the ground as more crawl towards me. I stab it under the ribs with my dagger and it falls dead. My limbs shake but I keep fighting, pushing myself further away from the ledge until I'm backed into a wall of ice. I force myself to my feet and continue to battle. I can see the Night King watching the party on the island, then his eyes trail the mountains near me as his wights continue to pursue it.

Suddenly, I hear a roar I've never heard before, then a large gust of wind knocks me to the ground and a large figure soars over me from high above. A large stream of fire explodes from overhead, roasting a majority of the wights crawling up the mountain's edge. I freeze in awe as I watch three enormous dragons fly overhead, burning the enemies in their wake. Ice and water explodes everywhere along with the remains of the undead. One of the dragons eventually lands near the island while the other two continue to burn the wights around them below. I can see the Queen, her white braided hair long down her back. Her white and silver furs make her look as regal as she presents herself.

I see the others scramble to the dragon while Jon cuts down the wights that advance on them. Jorah, Sandor, and Tormund spot me and wave me over frantically, shouting something that gets carried away by the wind. I eye the way down and know I may be able to reach them in time. I may be able to fight the ones remaining on the mountainside... but instead I turn to the Night King. A White Walker hands him a spear, and the dreadful King looks to the sky.

My stomach drops.

I scream to the others, though I know they cannot hear me. I reach for my horn and blow it as forcefully as I can. Their heads turn in my direction, Jon as well, but by the time they follow my gaze it is too late. The Night King throws the spear directly into one of the dragons flying overhead. The poor beast wails and falls to the ice, the light fading from its eyes as it slowly sinks into water.

My heart thunders against my chest. My hair is matted to my face as I wipe away involuntary tears. I look back to the Night King, whose focus is now on Jon, and before I can change my mind I'm running again. Not towards the others, but towards the Night King. I jump from one ledge to the other, forcing my limbs to push me forward. I slip, grabbing onto a jagged piece of upturned ice that cuts painfully through my gloves. Someone cries out in the distance but I can't see who.

I just need to get a little closer. Keep going. A little closer.

With a cry, I pull myself up; ignoring the blood from my hands painting the snow. I won't have long before I've overwhelmed with wights. As the Night King readies another spear, I take aim at him, but my limbs are weak and shaky. I release the arrow and it collides directly with the tip of the spear he's now holding. He simply looks at my shattered arrow, then at me.

I nock my last arrow and flames dance along the dragonglass. I aim at his heart, but his gaze stops me short. Those eyes, it's as if they have a hold on me. My vision begins to blur, and suddenly I can see myself from the Night King's perspective. My vision self is standing right beside him. I turn to flee but he grabs my shoulder. I scream in pain as flesh seems to sizzle where his hand is placed.

I come to in my real body, dropping my weapons as I'm lost in a tiring haze. I lose my footing just as more wights claw at my legs. I fall to their mercy, but I can't feel a thing. I can just make out Jon shouting my name.

I fall down.

Down.

Down.

Until I hit the icy water below.


	18. Old Wounds

_*this chapter includes Lysandra's POV as well as 3rd person encounters regarding the actions of other characters*_

**Winterfell**

Robb and Arya Stark stand in the Godswood, admiring the old tree, the leaves reflecting beautiful in the afternoon sunlight.

"I was there, you know," Arya says, her voice soft but strong.

Robb looks at her.

"I was there the night you were all slaughtered," she says. "I saw what they did to Grey Wind. I saw how they paraded your body around."

Robb remains silent, considering his sister.

"I wanted to save you and mother." She clutches the sword at her side. "I was too weak to do anything then. I'm not weak anymore."

"You were never weak," Robb says, a touch of playfulness to his tone, but then it grows somber. "Even if you were the most trained soldier in the world, there's nothing you could've done, Arya. I do hope you don't blame yourself."

She doesn't reply. Instead, she keeps her face stoic and releases her grip on her sword. She frightens him, sometimes; the way she seems to be lacking emotions at times. Bran as well, with his strange Three-Eyed Raven journey, though it's different with Arya. The way she is able to move like a thief in the night. The way she cut Littlefinger's throat like it was nothing during his trial. The way she won't talk about where she's been all this time beyond King's Landing. He's gotten very few pieces of her journey out of her. But when she saw him, she wept in his arms for a long time. He did too, though he tried to remain strong for his little sister. Despite how different she may be now, Robb has never been more grateful.

"I'm sorry it was me and not mother..." he says gently. "that came back. I wish it was her. She deserved it more."

"Don't say that," Arya says, glancing at him. "You're here. That's what matters."

She places her hand cautiously on his arm and the two of them stand there for a long while, listening to the soft wind against the falling snow.

"Tell me more about this Lysandra person," Arya says, amusement in her eyes. "Is she a good fighter? Do you trust her?"

Robb smiles a little. "Yes and yes."

"But she's a Lannister."

"Yes. They're not all the same, you know."

"Maybe."

"I have a feeling you may like her."

She raises an eyebrow. "I doubt that."

He chuckles. "We'll see, I suppose."

"Maybe I'll fight her."

"Please don't."

She shrugs, a smirk on her face.

Footsteps crunching in the snow causes them to turn. They see Sansa approaching them, accompanied by Lord Royce. Their faces are grim.

Robb and Arya's comfortable smiles fade at the sight of them. In her hand, Sansa holds a scroll undoubtedly sent by a raven.

"News from the Wall?" Robb asks, but he already knows the answer.

Lord Royce nods once and Sansa's eyes cast momentarily to the ground before warily meeting his.

"Is Jon alright?" Arya asks urgently, taking a step forward.

Sansa nods, but there's something hiding behind her eyes. When she looks at Robb, he knows what her weariness is about.

"How bad is it?" Robb asks.

Sansa hands him the scroll.

"It's what the letter doesn't say that concerns me," Sansa says carefully.

Robb reads through the letter twice from Ser Davos before handing it to Arya. It's short, but clear. Jon was injured but his wounds have been sustained. The group is travelling to King's Landing to hold court with Cersei about the impending battle. One of Queen Daenerys's dragons was killed by the Night King during the escape. Some men were lost but overall they've survived. Their mission has been successful. They've captured a wight for evidence.

Arya and Sansa look at their brother, waiting for his response.

Robb carefully hones in his reaction, but his hands shake a bit as he runs them through his hair slowly.

"Jon was right about the Night King," he says. "He's far more powerful than we could have imagined. He was right to involve the Dragon Queen."

"You don't trust her any more than I do," Sansa says.

"We've never met her," Robb reasons.

"She's an outsider," Arya says. "I want to trust Jon's judgement... let's just hope he knows what he's doing."

"Regardless, I need to get back to training the others," Robb says.

He starts to walk away but Sansa calls to him. He turns around.

"There's no mention of Lysandra," Sansa says, finally addressing the side issue hanging in the air. "I'm sorry."

Robb doesn't say anything, instead he nods once.

"I can send them a raven," she offers. "I can find out."

"No," he says. "They have enough to worry about right now."

"If she's as fierce as you say she is," Arya says. "I'm sure your friend is fine."

He smiles, but it doesn't touch his eyes. He heads to the training grounds with his sisters looking sadly after him.

**The Narrow Sea**

**A Targaryen Ship**

Tyrion Lannister holds his sister's hand as she lays unmoving in her bed. Bandages have been applied to her bitemarks and cuts. The bruises on her body make him wince just by looking upon them. The strange finger-like markings on her right shoulder that looks as if she's been burned. Her breathing is shallow but the Maester says he's optimistic about her recovery.

"This one's a fighter," he said.

Tyrion didn't need the Maester to tell _him_ that. He always knew how resilient his sister could be, though perhaps not quite to _this_ extent. He has so many things he wants to ask her, so many things he wants to tell her. On top of the loss of Viserion and the unwavering strength of their foe, plus soon reuniting with his other siblings, he doesn't know what he'll do if he loses Lysandra as well. He'll be crushed to nothing, as will Jaime when he inevitably finds out. But he holds onto the Maester's words like a vice.

She's a fighter. She'll pull through this. She must.

A light knock at the door causes him to sit up straighter and he mumbles for them to come in. It's Queen Daenerys, a kind look on her face. He starts to bow but she waves him off. She comes around the bed and sits beside him. He smiles at her for a moment but it fades when he looks back at Lysandra.

"Any change?" she asks.

Tyrion shakes his head. "And Jon?"

"Still unconscious as well," she replies. "He came to for a moment but I wasn't there to witness. Ser Davos said he was rambling a bit. He asked about your sister."

Tears well up in the dwarf's eyes.

"Thank you," he tells her.

"You've already thanked me."

"It's not enough," he says quietly, his voice breaking. "If I hadn't kept you from leaving sooner, perhaps they both would've been alright... and perhaps Viserion-"

"Don't," Daenerys says. Her voice shakes a little. "Do not blame yourself. This was my decision and you couldn't have known. Your sister knew the risks. They both did. They made their own choices. And as for Viserion... the Night King will be destroyed. There is no other option."

When Tyrion says nothing, she rises to her feet and places a hand on his shoulder.

"Do not give up hope," she says, looking at Lysandra. "Not yet."

It's only when she leaves the room that Tyrion allows himself to weep.

**Lysandra**

Flashes of memory overwhelm my head. My arrows bursting with fire, the fight with the dead bear, laughing with Jon and Jorah, running from the undead, the dragons, the Night King's hold on my shoulder, the fall from the ledge. Then I just see dead, blue eyes staring into mine. A skeleton-like hand reaches out for me.

I wake with a start, panting heavily. My vision is blurry and my coordination is way off. My hands are cold and clammy. I try to get up but the pain weighs me down.

"Lysandra," someone repeats over and over again. "It's alright. You're alright."

I try to relax my breathing as someone coos near me, wiping hair from my face. Slowly, my vision returns to me. The person holding my hand... it's Tyrion. He's here.

"Tyrion." My voice comes out dry. I swallow. "Is that really you?"

"Yes, yes. Here, drink this."

He tilts a cup up for me and I drink a few sips of water down before resting my head back again.

"How am I... Where is..." Then everything comes flooding back. I try to sit up. "Did we get the wight? Are the others okay? Did they make it out? I didn't see Jon get on the-"

Tyrion gently pushes me back down.

"Yes, and yes, they're alright," he says softly. "They made it out."

I sigh in relief, closing my eyes.

"They say you were rather brave out there," Tyrion says, raising a playful eyebrow at me.

I scoff and immediately clutch my side at the action. He eyes me wearily.

"I'd ask how you're feeling but that seems like a stupid question."

"A thoughtful one," I correct.

He smiles knowingly.

"I can't complain much," I say. "I'm alive."

"Yes, you are."

"But I don't understand... how?"

He moves his seat closer to me, keeping one of my hands in both of his.

"You fell from high ground into the water," he says. "They saw you fall. You were under for so long, they thought you were lost forever. Ser Jorah rushed to where you fell and the others bought him as much time as they could. Then you emerged onto the ice, barely conscious. He carried you to the others and Jon was left behind. Luckily, he arrived at the Wall on horseback, but we don't know how. The two of you were unconscious for a long time. Jon came to just a few days before you did."

I blink a few times, drinking in the new information.

"Ser Jorah saved my life?"

Tyrion nods. "You'll have to thank him after you regain your strength."

"Yes. I must thank all of them," I say. "Your Queen as well."

He gives me a look.

"What?"

"She's _our_ Queen now."

"I've already sworn fealty to Jon Snow and his family."

"And if Jon Snow bends the knee to Daenerys Targaryen?"

I raise my eyebrows. I can't say I would be surprised. Not after the Queen came to our aid _and_ lost one of her dragons because of it. I only hope Jon knows what he's getting into.

"Well, that would be... interesting. To say the least."

He chuckles a little. "We'll discuss politics later. This is hardly the time."

"I hate politics."

"Oh, I know you do."

We look at each other for a moment. It's all so surreal, actually seeing him in front of me after all this time. He looks so much older, but in a good way. His face is filled with heavy facial hair that fits him in a way I never thought it would. His eyes are tired, but wise and kind. He's exactly like how I remember him, but he's also entirely different.

"When Jon told me the news of you at Dragonstone," Tyrion says. "I was nearly struck silent."

"That would be a first."

"I said 'nearly'."

I smirk weakly.

"I see you cut your hair."

"It was a heavier weight than I realized," I reply.

He motions to the weapons laying on a table nearby.

"And you have a sword," he says, impressed. "Have a name for it yet?"

I take a moment to admire the sword in its sheath. I remember the moments it aided me in battle, how I felt when I wielded it. Like the true lion I always wanted to be.

I smile a little, returning my gaze to my brother.

"Lionheart," I say.

Tyrion smiles knowingly and takes my hand in his. His eyes are light as ever, but serious. He looks at me in a fondness only a sibling could have.

"Don't ever leave me again," he says.

I reach out and gently ruffle his hair.

"I'll do my best."

Tears begin to glisten in his eyes.

"Can you forgive me?" His voice breaks, causing him to nearly stumble over his words.

He needs no explanation, for I know what he means. Sending me to the Freys, father's death, not being able to be the brother I needed him to be. I've always known the guilt that weighs heavily in his heart, and I can see it in his eyes now more than ever before.

I smile, gently pressing the back of my hand against a tear.

"Do not weep, little brother." I smile weakly. "I'm alright. Now, more than ever."

He takes my hand and kisses it, holding it between both of his own.

"And truly," I say with a sigh. "there's nothing to forgive. Though, if you insist upon my forgiveness then I assure you, you have it."

Tyrion gathers himself, taking in a shaky breath. He pauses a moment before speaking again. When he does, he reaches into one of his pockets.

"I swore the next time I saw you," he says. "I would tell you how much I admire you. Your courage, your tenacity."

He hands me a dirty, crumpled note. I unfold it curiously only to see ink written in my own hand. The note I wrote for him long ago when I left him in Pentos.

"I would tell you how much I loved you," he says even quieter.

Tears form in my own eyes as I realize how long he's carried this note, and the sweet sincerity of his words. I look at him, grateful to have the chance to see him again, for many others have not been so lucky to reunite with their loved ones.

I take his hand again.

"And I love you, Tyrion," I say. "There's never been any doubt of that. Know that I've thought of you often since our departure. I watched over you when I was able."

He wipes away the rest of his tears, eager to turn the conversation into a playful one. He raises an eyebrow.

"You _watched_ over me?" he says with an intrigued smirk. Then realization dawns on his face and he nods. "You watched over me."

"I see many things now," I say. "Not everything I want to, but I'm hoping that will change."

He pats my leg through the blanket.

"It sounds like you have a story to tell me." He grins. "You know how I love stories."

"It's a bit of a long one."

"If only we were trapped on a ship with plenty of time..."

"Very well. Where do I start?"

"Only with the obvious," Tyrion says, looking at me as if I just asked the stupidest question known to man. "Start with Robb Stark."

***

It's days before I'm even able to leave my bed and Tyrion refuses to leave my side unless he has no other choice. When he's not tending to the queen, he's with me.

The first visitor I have besides Tyrion is Jon. I'm relieved to see him alive, so much so that I can't help but smile when he comes through the door. Tyrion has been called to the queen's side for further council on the meeting ahead.

Jon closes the door behind him, appearing a lot stronger than I would have guessed, and smiles sheepishly at me.

"I'm sorry I didn't visit sooner."

I sit up carefully, wincing a little.

"Don't be ridiculous," I say. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"And you?" he asks, pulling up a chair beside me. "How are you feeling?"

"Still weak," I admit. "But much better."

There's a comfortable silence between us.

"So you've bent the knee to the Dragon Queen," I say with a raised eyebrow.

Surprise registers on his face. I shrug.

"I _may_ have snuck a peek at your emotions," I say. "My apologies, but you're not hiding them very well."

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards a little, but fades quickly. Then he nods, his face sincere.

"And you believe she'll be a just ruler?"

He nods again.

"It's the best thing for all of us," he says.

"And what of your title?"

"I did what I did for the safety of the North. They'll understand... eventually."

"Will they?"

Jon looks at me now, his eyes weary.

"I hope so."

I reach out for him and he places his hand in mine. I give it a quick squeeze.

"You're a good man, Jon Snow," I say. "I'll support whatever decision you make. You're still my king, and if you've chosen to follow this queen, then so will I."

I squeeze his hand one more time before letting go. Jon smiles.

"I appreciate that," he says. "And I'm beyond glad you're alright."

"And I you. So I suppose I should stop calling you 'Your Grace'."

He smirks. "Even if I was still king, after what you did for us out there, for me, I don't think we need formalities between us."

I shake my head. "You would have done the same in my place."

"But I didn't. And you risked your life for us. That won't be forgotten. Certainly not by me."

I smile, but it fades when I think about King's Landing. I'm not exactly looking forward to reuniting with Cersei, or any of the other vultures, old and new, lurking there. Truth be told I'm worried about seeing Jaime; though, not as worried as I'm sure Tyrion is. I won't be received well, especially now that I'm on the same side as the Starks and a Targaryen.

" _Now_ who isn't hiding their emotions?" Jon teases, raising an eyebrow. "You needn't worry. I'm certain you can hold your own."

I give him a look. "I'd rather battle more wights."

He chuckles, patting my arm.

"Plenty of time for that," he says. "But for now you need to heal. The Maester says you're a quick healer. That's good. You'll be shooting more arrows in no time."

I grimace. "I'm afraid I lost it all in my fall."

Jon waves me off. "We'll have another bow made. Plenty of arrows to match."

"But the one you gave me was beautiful."

He leans towards me conspiratorially.

"The next one will be even better."

We laugh and spend a few more moments discussing the happenings of King's Landing. It will be awhile till we get there, and I'm going to need to muster up all the strength I can to survive it.

Meetings with Lannisters tend to always end in bloodshed.

***

When I formally meet Queen Daenerys, it's a few days before we reach King's Landing and I'm able to walk on two feet without feeling weak. My weapons are left in my room and I feel completely naked without them. I'm dressed in my typical clothing, though I feel more at home in lighter attire. The air is much warmer down in the South and I feel a wave of nostalgia crash over me like the waves against this Targaryen ship.

I bow to the Dragon Queen, not caring that a lady is technically supposed to curtsy in the presence of royalty. I've left that part of me long ago when I escaped King's Landing with Tyrion. Daenerys is accompanied by Ser Jorah, Tyrion, Varys, and a young woman who I learn is named Missandei. They stand a little ways behind her, giving the two of us some space. She regards me coolly, but I can sense the kindness hidden in her heart.

"Apologies, Your Grace," I say. "I wanted to meet with you sooner but my injuries held me for longer than I had hoped."

She nods at me, taking in my appearance.

"I am glad you are well, Lady Lysandra," she says. "I've only heard respectable things about you from allies. I saw your bravery firsthand and it will not be forgotten."

"I appreciate that, Your Grace. I wanted to thank you for what you did back at the Wall, and give you my sincerest apologies about Viserion. I wish there was more I could have done."

A flash of grief flickers in her eyes. She quickly composes herself, taking a breath.

"Thank you," Daenerys says. "It is not unnoticed that you tried to warn me back there, but there was nothing that could be done. We will avenge the death of my child and protect Westeros from the cold evil that resides beyond the Wall."

I nod. "I will do what I can to ensure that happens, Your Grace."

"Good," she says, a small smirk on her face. "You'll be an asset, as far as I'm concerned."

I smile. My eyes fall on Ser Jorah and the rest.

"Pardon me, Your Grace," I address Daenerys. "I'd like a word with Ser Jorah, if I may."

She nods in consent and I bow again. As the rest approach the queen, Jorah joins me on a walk to the other side of the ship. He offers me his arm and I take it, releasing it when we have a little more privacy among the sea.

"I wanted to thank you, Ser Jorah," I say. "I know you didn't have to come back for me. I don't believe 'thank you' is enough for what you did for me, but I suppose it's a start."

Jorah smiles warmly. "There's no need for thanks, my lady. As I recall, you saved _my_ life first. One can argue that you saved my life on _multiple_ occasions during our quest, and will have the scars to prove it."

I laugh and hug him, which takes him off guard. He laughs in surprise and gently embraces me back. It's a strange feeling. I can't remember the last time I felt something as wholesome as this, but I'm glad it's with Jorah. I'm glad we're both alive, that our friends and allies are alive, and that we're safe. At least for now.

I release him and squeeze his arms before letting go entirely.

"Let's not make a habit of having to save each other's lives," I tease. "We've got plenty of things on our plates already."

He smiles. "That we do, my lady."

"I hope you know you have my trust... and my friendship."

I stick out my hand to him and he gladly accepts it.

"And you have mine."

He kisses my hand and holds my gaze for a moment too long before letting go. I ignore the feeling I get of his tender touch, and the way the kindness in his eyes steadies my heart. I nearly jump out of my skin when Tyrion clears his throat beside us.

"The queen requests your counsel," Tyrion says, trying but failing to hide his smile.

A small smile rests on Jorah's face and he excuses himself from our presence. When he's out of earshot, Tyrion gives me a look.

I furrow my eyebrows. "What?"

"Must you win the heart of _every_ man in Westeros?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He raises his eyebrows, an amused look on his face.

"Really?" he says. "You don't know what I'm referring to? Shall I make a list?"

"Please, don-"

"Bronn, the Hound, who by the way will _not_ stop looking at you, _countless_ servants and lords growing up, and of course let's not forget the Young Wolf himself who you singlehandedly delivered from Braavos, and now-"

"Tyrion, enough!" I exclaim, though not unkindly. "I concede! Just stop your infernal pestering."

His grin is even wider now.

"You're wrong about Ser Jorah," I insist. "Everyone can see that he's infatuated with Queen Daenerys."

"A man can be infatuated with _two_ beautiful women, you know."

"I'm _begging_ you to stop."

Tyrion roars with laughter, prompting me to glare at him and then fail to hide a smile. He clutches his chest and shakes his head.

"I have missed you, sister."

"You've missed tormenting me, you mean."

"That too, yes." He laughs again. "You cannot deny you've missed it too. I can see it in your eyes."

I smile, shaking my head.

"Of course, I've missed you, you idiot." I look to the horizon. "Though I _really_ wish we weren't headed home. I was looking forward to avoiding it till the end of my days."

I look to Tyrion and see he's gone a bit pale. Worry is etched into his features as his gaze falls. My gut twists and I wish I hadn't mentioned it, even in jest. I take his hand in mine and he looks up at me.

"Don't worry, brother," I say. "We're in this mess together now."

He shakes his head. "What a pair we make."

"Indeed."

"They'll probably try to kill me, you know."

"Who?" I ask. "Jaime? Cersei?"

"Both, at least."

"Let them try," I muse. "I've gotten quite good with a sword."

"Don't try to downplay your apparently terrifying, precise fighting skills." Tyrion scoffs. "You _must_ tell me more about the Faceless Men."

"Not happening."

"But-"

"You are _dreadful_ at keeping secrets."

"That is ridiculous. Name one time-"

"My thirteenth name day, for one."

"Oh, here we go."

"You told nearly the entire castle of my fondness for Lord Reed."

Tyrion throws up his hands. "One slip of the tongue and you've branded me for life!"

"And the time Jaime broke father's favorite quill."

"That was an accident!"

"Not to mention the time Cersei set one of the banners on fire-"

"Alright, alright, enough!" He groans and now I'm the one laughing. "I need wine if we're going to dredge all of this up."

We go on like that for quite some time and I must say it feels good to laugh again. It almost distracts me from what we'll face in just a short amount of time.

Almost.

***

**King's Landing**

Everyone on the Targaryen ships meet to be escorted into King's Landing together. I'm equipped with my usual weapons, minus the bow and arrows that were lost in the battle. I walk alongside Tyrion and Jorah, followed behind by Jon, Missandei, and Ser Davos. The Hound trails behind, wheeling the wagon holding the wight.

They talk about the Dragonpit and its origin. I can't help but look upon it in a state of dread. This could be it. Cersei could lead us in there with the promise of a safe meeting and lure us all into a slaughter. Though I suppose the queen's dragons would certainly take care of her and her allies if she'd be so foolish as to attempt it.

I fall in step a little until I'm walking beside the Hound. He regards me wearily, slightly nodding at me before keeping his gaze forward. The two of us haven't spoken since the journey through the Lands of Always Winter. Finally, after walking in silence for a bit, I speak.

"I didn't mean what I said back on the ice."

"Of course you meant it," he replies, scoffing a bit.

I cock my head to the side. "Well, yes, I suppose I did. But I didn't mean for it to sound so harsh. It would just make things a whole lot easier if you let people care about you once in a while."

Sandor huffs and doesn't reply.

"I know what it's like to carry hatred for a sibling," I say. "Not nearly in the same way you do, but enough to know that that kind of hatred eats away at you until there's absolutely nothing left. I'm not asking you to let it go, I know you can't. But just understand that not everyone is going to betray your trust. And even though you yell at everyone every chance you get, I personally will always consider you my friend, Sandor."

He doesn't say anything for a long while. Then finally-

"I'm glad you're not dead."

I glance at him and he smirks at me, just a little. I grin and clasp his arm, making him chuckle.

Our group stops up ahead as Lannister soldiers come to escort us to the Dragonpit. The Dothraki file ahead and the first familiar face I see is Podrick Payne talking to Tyrion. Podrick looks up from his old friend as I approach.

"Lady Lysandra?" he says in disbelief.

"Pod!" I embrace him warmly. "You look well, friend."

"As do you." Podrick grins.

"Come on, you two," A familiar voice calls. "You can suck his magic cock later."

I smile at Bronn, shaking my head.

"Bronn."

"Lysandra." He tries to maintain his composure but I can see the utter surprise through his sarcastic façade.

We join the others in walking again.

"Do you know the shithole you two left the rest of us in?" Bronn teases me and Tyrion. "The whole kingdom was fucking scrambling like chickens with their heads lopped off. Fucking Lannisters, I swear."

"Be careful," Tyrion warns him. "One of us has become a trained assassin in our absence."

Bronn eyes the two of us. He eyes the sword on my waist.

"You still suck with a blade?" he asks me.

"I sincerely hope you'll never have to find out," I reply coolly.

Tyrion grins.

I see Varys behind us and nod to him.

"Varys," I say. "You've been busy."

"As have you, my lady."

As Tyrion and Bronn exchange witty remarks, I see Theon Greyjoy. I don't know how I didn't see him coming off of the ships back at the port, but he's here with us too. He looks so different from when I saw him for the first time in Robb's camp. He tried to seduce me while I was captive, which wasn't necessarily a shock given his reputation. I remember telling him I was far too much "woman" for him which made him all the more intrigued. He left not long after that and betrayed Robb. Robb... I can only imagine how Robb will react if Theon comes to fight for Winterfell. He did help Sansa escape Ramsey Bolton... I suppose that counts for something.

Theon catches me looking and gives me a tentative nod. I nod in return, not sure what else to do, before turning back to Tyrion and the rest. Just by that interaction, I can see flashes of Theon's torture under Ramsey's hold. It's in that moment, that peek into his memories, that I decide I will not make it any more difficult for him than it already is. He's done terrible things, that is true, but so have I. So have we all.

And he'll have plenty to deal with already when Robb finally gets ahold of him.

I don't miss the stench of King's Landing, but I do miss the warmth of the sun on my face, the smell of the sea, the comforting wind in my hair. But I'm a stranger to these grounds now, as I suppose I always will be. I must look so different from when I left. Not just my hair, but my entire being. More scars, more wounds, and now the mark of the Night King like fresh outlines of burnt fingers along my shoulder. I notice all the stares I've gotten while reuniting from people of my past. I see how they look at me as if they don't recognize me, until they do. _What happened to her?_ They must ask themselves. Sometimes I don't even know where I would begin to answer that question. But as we enter the Dragonpit, I can only think of one thing that matters most to me regarding my return.

Jaime.

We wait for the others, as well as Queen Daenerys, to arrive and I stand beside my seat next to Jorah, which also happens to be close to Theon. Jorah looks at me, then down at my hand.

"Take comfort in the fact that we have brought proof, my lady," he says. "Perhaps your sister will see things our way."

I follow his gaze down to my hand and find it trembling. I clench my fists.

"You don't know my sister."


	19. A Clash of Lannisters

I didn't expect Cersei to look quite so different. With her short, cropped hair and her grimace, matched with that crown on her head, she looks like the embodiment of beauty and cruelty. She is accompanied by the Mountain, now a foul creature underneath all that armor, and a few others I don't recognize. Though, I do recognize Euron Greyjoy and all the madness that has followed him around. It's as if a veil of evil is swimming around his person, like a black fog, something the Sight has given me that I don't intend to look over. He's one to be watched, never to be trusted. The company my sister intends to keep astounds me, but I can't say I'm surprised.

My heart stops when I see Jaime. How grown up he looks, a thin beard around his face, muscles taut and ready for battle. He looks well, and that brings me joy. When he looks at me, the shock is blatant in his eyes. He stops mid-stride, for just a moment letting his guard down and showing the vulnerability on his face. I was almost afraid he wouldn't recognize me, and maybe he didn't at first glance, but now it's clear that my fear was foolish. For now I wish to crawl somewhere and hide from his gaze. And yet, it takes everything in me not to run to him this very moment.

Jaime gathers himself, glancing at a scowling Cersei before taking his place near her seat. But when she looks away from him, he nods to me, which is more than I could have asked for considering the circumstances. Cersei and I meet each other's eyes and the anger in my heart is rekindled. The way she stares at me, as if she's already won. Her patience grows thin as she waits for the Dragon Queen to arrive. Out of all the people on our side, Euron eyes me quizzically with a darkness behind them. I scowl before turning my attention elsewhere.

Tyrion leans close to me.

"Perhaps he fancies you."

"I'd rather stick daggers in my eyes."

He laughs but it's quickly cut off by Daenerys's arrival. I duck a little on instinct, still not used to the dragons, prompting a smile specifically from Missandei and Jorah. I brush myself off to hide my embarrassment. Still, I know I'll never be used to the creatures, nor will I ever not stare in awe at the sight of their presence.

I smirk as Daenerys descends from her dragon, knowing she's simply showing her amount of power. Something that will greatly get under my sister's skin. Our side stands at her approach and we only sit when she is seated. Cersei grips the arms of her chair.

"We've been here for some time," she says.

Daenerys remains stoic. "My apologies."

She nods to Tyrion and he stands to address the purpose of this meeting. However, he can barely get a word out before Euron talks over him, threatening to kill Theon's sister if he doesn't submit to him in front of everyone now. I grimace, glancing at Theon who looks far less than comfortable, but he holds his ground and says nothing.

"I think we ought to begin with larger concerns," Tyrion says with a furrowed brow.

"Then why are you talking?" Euron sneers, getting up from his seat. "You're the smallest concern here."

I roll my eyes, noticing Jaime doing the same. Tyrion turns to address Theon.

"Do you remember when we discussed dwarf jokes?"

Theon huffs. "His wasn't even good."

"He explained it at the end. Never explain it, it always ruins it."

I smirk. Typical Tyrion, always able to turn one's quip around on them in any situation.

Euron is less than amused, walking closer. Too close for comfort as my hand grips the hilt of my sword on instinct.

"We don't even let your kind live in the Iron Islands," he says, his voice low and menacing. "We kill you at birth. An act of mercy for the parents."

That's what does it. Not necessarily the words, but the look of stifled hurt it brings in Tyrion's eyes. I'm on my feet within seconds and at my brother's side, just a bit in front of him to separate the two. My hand still grips my sword and I don't wither from Euron's cool, yet amused glare.

"That's close enough," I say, my voice like ice.

Euron sneers. "The Whore of King's Landing." He looks to Tyrion. "You have the Whore fight your battles for you?"

"I wouldn't prod her too much," Tyrion replies. "My sister isn't quite as tolerant as I am."

I smile at Euron; a cold, calculated smile. I'm not afraid of much, certainly not of him. The only reason I haven't held him at bay with my sword is out of respect for the meeting at hand.

"Don't worry, brother," I say, holding my smile in place. "There is more at stake now than silly squabbles with pathetic men."

Euron takes another step forward but I don't relent. If he starts a fight, I'll surely finish it with his blood. I've faced far worse things than him.

"Pathetic?" he growls. "You little bi-"

"Perhaps you ought to sit down," Jaime's voice is clipped.

Euron eyes me and Tyrion, not backing down.

"Sit down or leave," Cersei snaps.

The Mountain moves to her side instantly, waiting for further command.

Finally, Euron sneers one last time before heading back to his seat. I slowly release my hold on the sword and step back from Tyrion. It may be my imagination, but I can almost see a sense of pride in all of my siblings' eyes for a moment before I return to my seat. As Tyrion continues his speech, I turn to Theon.

" _That's_ your uncle?" I whisper.

Theon nods, his face grim. "Unfortunately."

"My apologies." I widen my eyes for effect and Theon hides a smile.

We turn our attention back to the meeting. Jon has taken over, addressing the matter of the Night King and his army as Sandor goes to fetch the crate. I don't look forward to seeing a wight again, especially after the Lands of Always Winter, but I suppose I should get used to the sight. There are far more to come in the time ahead.

I know that Cersei will change her mocking tone once she actually sees the thing, but every gut instinct I possess tells me we'll never be able to trust her. Cersei cares for one person, and one person only. Herself. One could argue that she's in love with Jaime, but I've never believed it. Someone like her isn't capable of love.

I don't move from my place until Sandor returns with the crate and begins to unlock it. I walk until I'm a few paces away from it. Jaime and I share a look as I brace myself for what's to come. I can tell he doesn't believe it. None of them do. Perhaps I wouldn't either, not if I hadn't seen.

They just need to see.

An eerie silence falls over as Sandor approaches the crate. He hesitates, only briefly, before kicking the crate over.

Instantly, the wight rushes forward, straight at my sister, and the darkest part of me is disappointed when the Hound yanks the thing back by its chain. Jon and I move towards it instantly as the others who haven't seen it cower in fear. Jaime practically leaps to his feet at the sight of the hideous undead. I unsheathe my sword and Sandor cuts the thing in half. It crawls relentlessly to the closest victim, flailing with no fear.

Jon demonstrates killing them with fire by burning its severed hand. I stab the lower half of it with Valyrian steel at Jon's prompting, and he finishes the thing off with a stab of dragonglass through the heart. I kick the remains away from me in disgust. The amount of horror on the Lannister side is immense.

"I didn't believe it until I saw them," Queen Daenerys says. "I saw them all."

"How many?" Jaime asks.

"A hundred thousand, at least."

The color drains from Jaime's face.

"Their numbers will continue to climb," I say, turning everyone's attention on me. "These things know no fear. They have one intention and one intention only: to destroy us. _All_ of us. They care nothing for sides or kingdoms. Anyone who breaths air is their enemy."

Everyone lapses into a silence. Euron gets up from his seat to investigate the corpse. After learning they can't swim, he announces his plan to flee to the Iron Islands until the war is over. As he leaves, Cersei says she plans to accept Daenerys's truce on the condition that the King in the North does not take up arms against the Lannisters. She glares at me when I scoff. I tried to remain quiet but my fury on Robb's behalf boils inside of me.

"You _would_ love that, wouldn't you sister?" I sneer. "Afraid the North will be all too happy to wipe your kingdom off the map? 'The North remembers' is an understatement."

"Lysandra-" Tyrion starts, a warning in his voice.

Cersei holds up her hand, a smug look on her face. "No, let's hear from our dear sister. I'm sure she has plenty of _fascinating_ things to say. Tell us what wisdom a runaway whore in exile has for her foreign allies."

"The North has every right to attack you on their own time as a hunter has against a wild boar."

"You know nothing about ruling a kingdom," Cersei snarls. "The only thing you're good for is running away or standing aside like the coward you are."

I lean forward. "You let your coward son execute Ned Stark, _Your Grace_. That not only shows your own cowardice, but also your stupidity. And let's not forget father's hand in the Red Wedding-"

"Do not speak of Joffrey or our father," she practically spits. "I should have had those guards kill you all those years ago when I had the chance-"

"Yes," I hiss. "You should have. Another stupid decision you've made. You know very well the threat we _all_ are under and yet you still let your pride dictate over reason. This isn't about you or me, this is about the human race."

"Enough," Jon interrupts, casting a weary look between us. "I am true to my word, or I try to be." He looks to Cersei. "That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens. I've already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen."

I close my eyes, letting out a sigh of defeat. I've let my emotions get the best of me, something I've been trained to lock inside, and now Jon has just placed the final nail in the coffin. Cersei will never agree to have her armies fight for us now.

With her face cold, she says, "Then there is nothing left to discuss. The dead will come North first, enjoy dealing with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you."

I avoid Tyrion's gaze as he glares between me and Jon. Cersei and her allies follow her as she leaves the Dragonpit. I'm tempted to go to Jaime but Brienne of Tarth gets to him first. I sigh into my hands as I rub them over my face.

"I understand your anger, Lysandra," Tyrion says in a calm voice. _Too_ calm. "But now was hardly the time for you to voice it."

I remove my hands from my face to see him glaring at me. I raise my hands in caution.

"I'm sorry," I say. "But I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"And you," he whirls on Jon. "I'm pleased you bent the knee to our queen. I would have advised it, had you asked. But have you ever considered learning how to lie every now and then, just a bit?"

"I'm not going to swear an oath I can't uphold," Jon argues.

Tyrion shakes his head. "There's only one thing to do, now. Everyone stays here. I need to speak with my sister."

"I didn't come all this way to have my Hand murdered," Daenerys says, worry in her tone.

"I did this," Jon says. "I should go."

"She'll _definitely_ murder you," Tyrion and I say in unison.

I rise and walk until I'm standing beside my brother.

"I'll accompany him, Your Grace," I tell the Dragon Queen.

"You will not," Tyrion snaps. "You will stay here with the others."

"I'm not leaving you alone. Weren't you the one saying I'm not allowed to leave you again?"

He gives me a look. "You know what I meant."

I look to Daenerys. "I apologize for what my outburst caused, my queen. Please, allow me to make up for it now."

After a moment, she nods, much to Tyrion's disappointment. Ser Jorah makes a move to approach me, but doesn't. I smile at him and Jon before turning in the opposite direction.

As we walk off together, Tyrion grumbles to himself.

"And if she kills us both?"

"Then it's been a brief, wonderful reunion with you, brother."

***

I hide from the guards, slipping into the shadows among the castle as Tyrion is led to Cersei's chambers. Tyrion is stopped for a moment by Jaime right outside, who looks less than happy about the predicament we're all finding ourselves in. I catch a few words from their conversation, a training tactic I learned in Braavos, before Tyrion is escorted by the Mountain inside. If my brother so much as utters a sound of shock, nothing will stop me from bursting through those doors and ending anyone who seeks to harm him.

Jaime stands alone now outside the room, a troubled look on his face, and I almost stay where I am in order to avoid him completely. But I'm not a coward; I know I'll have to face him eventually, and what better time to do it then when he isn't within Cersei's grasp?

I slowly emerge from behind the pillar and walk towards him. He spots me immediately and a knowing look spreads across his face.

"I should have known you'd be lurking in the shadows," he says with a hint of playfulness, but not enough to make me feel comfortable.

"It's become a habit, I'm afraid," I reply, inclining my head a bit. "Hello, brother."

"Lysandra." He nods back. "I see you've followed in our brother's footsteps and joined the Dragon Queen. I can't say I'm shocked."

His voice is carefully controlled, yet clipped. The absence of my nickname from his words proves that this will not be a pleasant conversation. I keep my face stoic, hiding any hurt that threatens to register on my face.

"I was sworn to Jon Snow and his family," I say. "Since he has chosen to alter his allegiance, so have I."

"Yes, yes." He waves me off. "I heard rumors about the Young Wolf's return as well. I take it that has something to do with you?"

"Robb Stark is alive, yes. But he was brought back for his own purpose. I merely found him and returned him to his home."

"It seems you've formed a habit of protecting families that are not your own."

My nails dig into my palms. I have to remind myself to breathe.

"I serve those who fight for the good of the realm," I say, managing to keep my voice even.

Jaime scoffs. "The good of the realm. And we're supposed to trust your foreign queen?"

"You're _supposed_ to fight for the living. The rest of it doesn't matter. At least, not right now."

He hesitates. "I agree." I give him a look. "I do. But you cannot be surprised that our sister doesn't just take your word for it. The way you talked to her out there-"

"The way _I_ talked to her?" I gesture to my chest, my eyes wide. "Unbelievable. Cersei is clearly the one at fault here and yet you _still_ choose her over me."

His brow furrows. "What? That's ridiculous."

I shake my head, my gaze casting to the ground. And for a moment, I let my strong exterior slip.

"You've always chosen her," I say quietly.

It's silent for a moment, then Jaime breaks it.

"That's not fair and you know it."

I meet his eyes again, looking for a form of apology there but there is only anger. I set my jaw. When I speak again, it's a deadly calm.

"If Cersei isn't convinced to send her troops to fight at Winterfell, we will all die. Do you understand?" I cross my arms and step closer. "We will all die, and then that means more wights will ascend on your kingdom. Then you will be wiped out within a blink."

I didn't necessarily know this, meaning the Sight never showed me much about the future of the battle ahead, only potential ones, but anyone with half a mind could predict where we'd be without more soldiers.

"You think I don't know that?" Jaime growls. "I _tried_ to talk to her. She won't hear me."

"Then try harder," I snap. "For once in your life, actually fight for something that matters."

"Like you fought for father?" he fires back.

And there it is, the wound that we had been avoiding, festering during the years apart; the true purpose behind his hostility.

"I did not kill father."

"No. You just watched while Tyrion-"

"Tywin Lannister was a tyrant." I refrain from raising my voice too much. "He only caused pain. The world is better without him in it."

"He was your father! _Our_ father! He was _that_ before anything else!"

"Not to me!" I shout.

Then I notice how badly I'm trembling, how much I want to cry right here, but I will not show weakness. I lower my voice, taking a shaky breath.

"He stopped being my father long before his death," I say. "And I will not lie and say I regret not stopping Tyrion because I do not. Nor will I. I loved him, yes, but my love for him did not overshadow his wickedness."

Jaime's face drops, his eyes mist before he jerks his head and blinks them away. He looks at the door Tyrion disappeared into, then back at me. His gaze is hard and his jaw is clenched.

"Then I suppose you'll leave the rest of us to rot as well."

"Jaime-"

"And if you're wondering about your little friend, Stalia," he leans closer, his voice cold. "I killed her. Just like I would any traitor."

I know for certain the color drains from my face as I'm unable to hide from the weight of his words. A wicked, triumphant gleam in his eyes sends rage coursing through me, but also incredible sorrow. For Stalia, my dear companion, and for the kind brother I once knew. Still, something is off about the tone of his voice, but I'm too upset to notice it clearly.

The door opens, jerking both of us from our focus as we turn to see Tyrion filing out. He stops short when he feels the tension in the air. He eyes both of us carefully before speaking.

"I believe she's going to agree," Tyrion says before I can ask the question.

Both Jaime and I's shoulders visibly sag in relief.

"Thank the gods," I say, avoiding Jaime's glance. "Let's go, then."

"However," Tyrion says, already looking weary about the answer to the next question. "There is something else she's requested before making her decision."

"I'm not surprised," I say, straightening my posture.

"What is it?" Jaime asks, his tone towards Tyrion more civil.

Tyrion looks at me. "She wants to speak with you. Alone."

I take a breath, my shakiness subsides as I hone into the training from Braavos. I keep my appearance calm and my voice even calmer, but I'm dreading this conversation far more than the one with Jaime. This one may very well end in my death, though I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that Tyrion is still breathing.

I slowly unclench my hands and nod.

"Very well."

The room is dark but for the sunlight filtering in through the large windows, sending a dreary illumination on my sister's scowl when I sit across from her. The Mountain is not far behind me, but I pay him no mind. I'm sure both of them would love nothing more than to see fear in my eyes. They will not have it now, nor ever.

"If you're looking for an apology, I'm afraid I'm fresh out."

Cersei purses her lips, gripping her chair just a bit harder.

"I simply wanted to tell you something," she says. "And to make you an offer."

I scoff. "I don't need anything you're offering, sister."

She smiles a bit, amused.

"Perhaps," she says. "Or perhaps I'm merely concerned for my sister's safety in the battle ahead. Tyrion tells me you're quite capable of taking care of yourself now, though I've known that for some time."

"You never cared for me," I say. "I suppose you did me a favor in the end."

"As much as I'm sure you'd love to believe that," she says. "It's not true."

I narrow my eyes, waiting for her to continue. Waiting for whatever lies will slither from her mouth.

"You will always be my sister," she continues. "And there was a time when I couldn't imagine anything happening to you. You were so doting towards Jaime and I when we were children. Always following us and getting into mischief. Father always had a soft spot for you and well... I couldn't help myself from feeling the same."

She leans back in her chair, closing her eyes for a moment as if reminiscing. When she opens her eyes, she keeps her focus on the kingdom outside.

"Lysandra the Gentle. The Golden Heart. The Forgotten Lion." She sneers, but it doesn't seem malicious. "You were always the favorite. Even with the wicked ways of your siblings you never told a soul what you saw. It was unnerving how much I could trust you. So kind. So naive. I finally grew to hate you for it."

I hide my clenched fists behind my back, ignoring the pain of my nails in my palms.

"And then I got too close to Jaime," I say coolly.

Cersei grimaces at the thought.

"I wanted you to know how it felt to be alone," she says. "To feel so isolated and unloved, it was maddening. It worked far better than I had hoped."

"Yes." My tone remains steady. "Being raped and beaten to unconsciousness certainly dampened my personality."

"But it made you strong." She looks at me now with a sense of pride that surprises me. A look that has only been directed towards me a few times. "Resilient. Unafraid. Despite father's treatment of you, he was proud. I think it angered him, really, that despite your actions to hinder this family, he couldn't help but admire your efforts."

"The two of you stopped being my family long ago," I say. "I care not for your thoughts on my decisions. Everything I did was for me and me alone."

"Now, we both know that's not true." She cocks her head to one side. "You've done _quite_ a bit for the fallen wolf king."

"Leave him out of this."

She waves a hand, dismissing it all together.

"I care not," she says unenthusiastically. "Who lies in your bed is your own business."

I stand from my chair.

"This kingdom will fall if you don't see past your own existence," I warn.

"My existence is the only one that matters."

"Yes. You have proved that to yourself haven't you?"

I move past the Mountain, then turn back.

"You've lost so much already," I say with sincerity, thinking mainly of the children. Of Myrcella and Tommen. "Will you at least consider _not_ throwing your life away?"

She looks at me with narrowed eyes. "And what do you care of what happens to me?"

"Despite my hatred for you, that small part of me that always loved her sister can't help but break through once in a while," I admit. "That small part of me that _doesn't_ wish to see you tortured in all the ways I was by your command, by a person I would've never thought to harm me; my own sister. So if you ever truly cared for me like you claim, consider her plea for your safety; because you won't have much longer in this big castle of yours."

Cersei is silent for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she leans forward.

"Not being able to save my children will haunt me the rest of my days," she says. "That has been my only regret. And although I reveled in your anguish, a true elder sister should protect their younger. Women are treated like animals in this world, used for their bodies and then thrown away if they don't rise from the despair. I should have let the world crush you on its own instead of provoking it. I regret what I've done to my only sister. And should you choose to betray this foreign queen of yours and come home, no harm will come to you. Stand against me, and I will not mourn your death when the dead crush you."

I can feel the sincerity in her words. Cersei has always been so manipulative that it's prominent in her facial features when she speaks the truth. As twisted as it is, this is her way of apologizing. For a moment, I wish I could forgive her fully and try to rebuild what has been broken, but I know my sister better than anyone. In the end, evil will always win over anything she has left in her.

I bow to her.

"Goodbye, sister."

Without a second glance, I exit the room.

As the others sigh in relief when Cersei announces that she will send her troops North, I hide my disdain, watching her closely. There's something in her voice I do not trust, a whispering from the Sight that I cannot ignore. My sister is not to be trusted. She is a snake lying within the thick grass. Cersei has never listened to reason, why would she start now?

Nonetheless, I put on a relieved face and join the others on our journey back to the ships. Jon must read the worry in my face because he places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Are you worried about the return to Winterfell?" he asks.

The question catches me off guard, as I haven't really been thinking about that.

"Well, I wasn't, but... I certainly am now."

He smiles kindly. "Don't be. After everything you've done, you deserve to find a home there, or wherever you choose once the battle is over. And I know my siblings will be happy to see you again."

The idea of a home is too much for my heart to take, so I don't let the pleasant thought linger for long. Something tells me the ending to my story won't be a happy one, but I return his smile anyway.

"They'll be thrilled to see _you_ ," I say.

Jon's gaze moves to Daenerys a little ways up ahead. His response is quiet.

"We'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. A few of the lines I took directly from the show in order to move the chapter along during the Dragonpit scenes. Hopefully you didn't mind them too much! I believe this will be the last chapter where I have to takes lines from the show (and if it isn't, there won't be much more) as my ending from here on out will be quite different than the show.


	20. Wolves, Lions, & Dragons

How Fidelis managed to find and wait for me at White Harbor is beyond me. The last I saw of my horse was at the Wall. Nevertheless, there he was upon our arrival, waiting with the strong intention of bringing me back to Winterfell. Even Jon was baffled by the sight, saying I have a loyal friend in the North. I greeted him with an apple from the South, as promised if we were ever to reunite again. He was more than willing to accept my offer.

We ride with Winterfell in sight among our new and old allies. The closer we get to the castle, the more nervous I become. I'm not sure why, and I chalk it up to being afraid of not being accepted by the people once again, but I know the true reason for my hesitation.

The Young Wolf.

It feels like a lifetime ago that we sailed from Braavos to Westeros. Like a lifetime ago that I left my name behind and trained with the Faceless Men.

I try to shake myself out of it. There's no need to be nervous. Robb is fine, I can feel that even without the Sight. His family is safe, his people are safe. Everyone is safe... at least, for now.

I can feel and see the contempt in the eyes of the people, especially towards Daenerys and her followers. I can't say I blame them. Had I not had the same suspicions when I first learned of her? Even when I first met her? But in time they will see that she means no harm. And yet the warning in my heart tells me to be cautious around her. So easily can Targaryens turn to madness and violence.

"Lysandra."

I turn to see Gendry not far behind me. I wait for him to continue.

"I never got a chance to apologize to you," he says.

I shake my head. "There's no need."

"Please," he says with resoluteness. "I may not have been there to see what you did for the others, but their recounts are enough. I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

I notice the Hound listening even though he pretends that he isn't, keeping his ear slightly inclined in our direction. I smile at Gendry.

"Your apology is accepted, Gendry," I say. "Though, not necessary. It is not easy to place trust in others, especially during these times."

"Well, I won't be making that mistake again."

We exchange respectful nods as the journey continues. The Hound leans towards me.

"You should have made him beg for forgiveness," he grumbles.

"You're the one who said I should've stayed at the Wall," I remind him, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps you're the one who should be begging for forgiveness."

He scoffs, but a slow smile creeps across his face.

The gates of Winterfell lie open in wait for us. We pass under the arch and into the city itself. I notice a small, young woman adorned in Winterfell clothing, but not a dress like that which is common, watching all the faces that pass by her. I feel the familiarity, not just because she is Arya Stark but also because of her connection to Braavos and the Faceless Men. It's like a whispering that comes to me as swiftly and softly as the wind.

She notices me staring and her fierce glare turns into one of curiosity, as if she already knows who I am. I nod at her, not knowing what else to do, but she just continues to stare with that same look on her face.

When it's finally time to dismount, I see the rest of the Stark family not far up ahead. Sansa stands readily beside a young man in a rolling chair, Bran Stark.

Then I see him.

Robb is standing beside Sansa, smiling warmly at the sight of Jon. Jon takes the time to embrace each of his siblings, especially Bran, and he looks for Arya who is nowhere to be seen.

Robb's eyes search the crowd of new allies until his eyes land on me. A look of pure relief washes over his face, a small smile forming. Jon follows his gaze and smiles knowingly at me. Robb starts to move in my direction but stops when Queen Daenerys comes to address them. He stands there politely, acknowledging her with a bow, though he does not look entirely pleased by her presence; nor does Sansa.

I pat Fidelis's side and head towards them, ignoring the glares by some onlookers as I pass. I remain a respectable distance; the intense gaze from Brandon Stark does not go unnoticed. I feel a familiarity in his eyes, and I know that he has seen what I have seen. Even more so.

He has become the Three-Eyed Raven.

At Jon's beckoning, I approach the others.

"Lady Lysandra," Jon says. "Meet my brother, Brandon Stark."

"It's good to see you are well," I say with a bow. "Your family has missed you so."

"Yes," Bran says, as though from far away. "You and I have much to discuss. But, later. There are more important matters now."

The others exchange glances but say nothing.

I smile at Sansa who smiles warmly in return.

"Lady Lysandra," she says. "I'm grateful for your safe return."

"Your words are kind, Lady Sansa. It is good to see you again."

Then my attention falls to Robb. His thin beard has grown out, his body stronger than when I last saw it. He must be training well and often. Winterfell has given him so much more life, shown prominently in his eyes.

"Stark," I say formally, hands clasped behind my back.

He sets his jaw, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Lannister," he says in his strong voice.

The two of us look at each other for a few moments before I burst into a wide smile. He reacts in kind and I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. We both share a relieved laugh.

"I thought you dead," Robb says in my ear. "There was no word... I thought..."

"Now, Robb," I say skeptically. "You know well enough how stubborn I am. The world will have to try a bit harder to get rid of me."

We release each other, still holding onto each other's arms as Robb shakes his head in disbelief.

"You must tell me everything," he says softly.

I squeeze his arms.

"When we have a moment to spare," I promise. "Where is Grey Wind?"

"Perfectly content," he says with a grin. "Roaming with Ghost somewhere. He'll be pleased of your return, I'm sure."

Realizing we're not alone, I release Robb's arms and stand at attention. We both clear our throats, a tad embarrassed of our encounter in front of such company. Sansa and Jon hide their smiles and even Daenerys looks amused.

"We don't have time for this," Bran says in a calm manner, drawing everyone's attention.

He addresses Dany, revealing the Night King has made her fallen dragon one of his own. The dead are now marching South to Winterfell; a thing we've all been expecting but haven't been quite prepared to hear. The reunion turns somber and urgent. A meeting is announced to take place very soon and the others begin to disperse, readying themselves for the discussion ahead.

As the others walk in the direction of the Great Hall, I catch Robb looking at me. He's smiling softly, a light in his eyes. I raise an eyebrow expectantly.

"I'm glad you're here," he says.

The sincerity in his voice overwhelms my heart. The way his vibrant blue eyes watch me now almost makes me forget about the threat ahead of us.

"I haven't been gone that long," I tease.

His smile grows. "Well, it feels much longer."

He offers his arm and I take it, allowing him to lead me to the meeting.

I stand near the high table beside Ser Jorah as the meeting ensues. The Stark children sit with Queen Daenerys and Tyrion. I notice how stiff Jorah is standing and gently touch his arm. He looks at me as if momentarily startled, then visibly relaxes.

"Breathe," I say quietly. "You're not the enemy here."

"From the air in this room, you'd think it was filled with enemies," he replies.

"Patience, Ser Jorah. It will take time, but we are all on the same side in the end."

He smiles at this and places his hand over mine.

"I suppose you're right, as usual, Lady Lysandra."

That's when I notice Robb watching us, a guarded look on his face. He then returns his attention back to the meeting. I feel somewhat guilty, though I'm not sure of what.

Jorah's focus is all the more intense when Lyanna Mormont confronts Jon on his decision to bend the knee to the Targaryen Queen. As he expected, the Lords of Winterfell are not very pleased with his decision. Jon says his peace, but the crowd does not seem convinced. Robb stands.

"My brother did what was necessary to protect the North, as he always has," he addresses the crowd. "It matters not how we've gotten to this point, but where we go from here. We have but one enemy now. That is where our focus belongs."

There's a murmur of agreement, though none look happy about the truth in his words. They continue to eye the Dragon Queen suspiciously, but there are no more outbursts.

"Robb Stark is right," Tyrion says, rising from his seat; still seeming a little startled from Robb's presence. "Jon Snow has risked his life in order to show us the truth. If we survive this, we'll have him to thank. We have brought the greatest army of all time and two full grown dragons. And before long we will be joined by the Lannister army for the battle ahead." He raises his hands at the protest. "I know we have been enemies in the past but that does not matter now! We must join together and fight... or die."

"And how will we feed 'the greatest army of all time'?" Sansa asks, annoyance in her voice. "I did not prepare for Dothraki, Unsullied, and two full grown dragons. What do dragons eat anyway?"

"Whatever they want," Daenerys replies.

"We will make do with what we have," Robb says, hoping to avoid more animosity. "We have much to prepare for before the battle hits us, which won't be much longer now. Training will continue to be under Brienne of Tarth's command and myself. There is much to do and little time to do it. I suggest we all do our part." He rises and looks to Jon and Daenerys. "Our trust lies with you."

The meeting disperses and as much as I want to follow Robb, Bran holds my gaze. He makes his way in the direction of the Godswood and I follow.

***

"You see the same things I do," Bran says when I approach him by the large old tree in the Godswood. "Yet, not in the same manner, and you do not understand it."

I know I should feel frightened by his knowledge of me, by the connection I feel, but a strange calm overwhelms me. I scare people with what I know, I know I do. I can see it in their eyes when I speak. Queen Daenerys has grown used to my strangeness and even inquires my advice from time to time along with Tyrion and the rest of her advisors' counsel. Still, sometimes it's nice to be looked at like any other average person.

"Yes," I say. "And you've been the Three-Eyed Raven for some time now. Though, I'm not entirely sure what that means."

"It is difficult to explain," he replies, his gaze seeming so far away. "I'm sure you will understand in time. For now, perhaps we can help each other."

"How?"

"You're searching for your purpose," he says. "Not the one we crave in life but one that has been appointed for you. I can help you see it. I can teach you to clear your mind... see what you want to see."

I kneel down in front of him, my focus steady.

"And what do you need from me?"

An almost imperceptible smile crosses his face.

"I need more eyes," he says. "Should you learn to control your visions, I believe your aid will assist me in the troublesome tides ahead. The Night King has marked you." He pulls up his sleeve to reveal a burnt hand mark on his skin. "As he has marked me. You will need to be ready when he comes for me... and you."

I nod, my jaw setting in determination.

"When do we start?"

***

Robb finds me again soon after dinner. I'm up near the towers outside, looking over at the direction I feel the battle will begin in. It is dark now, with only lanterns and torches lighting Winterfell. The snow has stopped for the moment, but I feel a slight storm will approach in the late hours of the night. It's silent but for a few clangs of metal and murmurs of conversations, occasionally followed by an uproar of drunken laughter.

"I see you've missed the cold," Robb says, his voice light.

I adjust the furs over my shoulders.

"It's grown on me, but I'd hardly say I missed it."

He chuckles, moving to stand beside me.

"I'd have thought you'd be asleep by now," he says. "You've had a long journey."

"I'm afraid I have too much on my mind."

"Yes." He nods. "I imagine we all do. Though, I'm sure you more than others. And how are your injuries? The tale you told of the Lands of Always Winter... I can't imagine that's something so easily forgotten."

"No," I say. "I'll have the scars to remember it." I shake my head. "So many scars..."

He doesn't have to say what he's thinking, I can already tell. By the mention of the scars he's thinking of the story I told him long ago. He's thinking of my violation and it angers him, but most of all it saddens him.

"I've been dying to know your thoughts about our new queen," Robb says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

I hesitate. "She saved our lives. She's been kind, but far from weak. She has the makings to be a great queen. Many love her."

"Including my brother," he says, and it's a statement rather than a question.

"Perhaps."

"And do you trust her?"

I pause, thinking carefully over my next words.

"I can feel something strange about her... not necessarily good or evil, just... uncertainty. It is as if she's on a scale. Lean too far one way and it could prove catastrophic. She has struggled to find that balance within her for years."

Robb says nothing, but doesn't seem surprised by my words. As if he too may have been thinking the same thing.

"Do you believe Cersei will send her army North?" Robb asks after a pause.

I slowly turn to him, meeting his already certain gaze.

"No," I say. "And we'll have to be prepared for when that suspicion becomes certainty."

His expression tells me he has suspected the same, and the anger behind his eyes does not lose flame at the thought of Cersei betraying his family once again.

I touch his arm, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"How are you?" I ask. "I know you said you're doing well here, and I'm glad, but how are you really?"

He shrugs a little, not meeting my eyes.

"Every time I start to forget about what happened, I see my scars. I see Grey Wind's scars. And then it's as if I can recall the entire moment like it happened just hours before. Honestly..." He trails off a moment. Then he meets my eyes. "It's been worse since we parted."

"But I thought the Faceless Men helped-"

"They did," he says with a nod. "I've learned to cope with the memories. Being around my family has helped me greatly. But even they can't keep away the nightmares."

I grimace. "Mine are in no comparison to yours, but I fear mine will never end either."

Robb smiles dryly. "Look at us. Two broken things trying to save the world."

He takes the hand I've placed on his arm and kisses it, sending a warm feeling throughout my body.

"We will be alright, my lady."

I smirk at his playful look.

"Don't call me 'my lady'."

He raises his eyebrows playfully, moving closer to me. So close that I can feel his breath on my face in the cold air. I place my hand on his chest to stop him from coming further. A question rests in his eyes that I am not ready to answer.

"Robb..."

Excited paws scatter among the ground and we turn to see Grey Wind approaching us, a light in his eyes. I laugh and bring myself to my knees to greet him. He nuzzles me, whining fondly at my touch.

" _Now,_ you come to see me," I tease. He huffs in response.

I look up, still smiling, to see Robb looking at the two of us. He's smiling too, but there's a slight sadness there. As if he's picturing something that isn't quite there. I think he's going to say something but he just crouches down beside us and pets his furry companion, scratching behind his ear.

"You're starting to like her more than me," he tells him with a smirk. "I'm not fond of this arrangement."

I scoff. "As if he could ever love anyone more than he loves you."

"He _adores_ you," Robb says, giving me a look. "You should have seen the way he stood there in the archway after you rode off. I had to force him to come in at nightfall."

As if in response, Grey Wind leans his face into my hand and closes his eyes.

"Fine," I say softly, peering at the direwolf. "He adores us _both_."

Robb's hand touches mine against Grey Wind's fur.

"I suppose I can live with that," he says.

***

I wake in the dead of night, long after most have fallen into sleep. I've had another nightmare about the Night King. They've become far worse since I received his mark. It's as if he knows what I'm seeing, as if he expects me to see it and awaits me in my dreams. I see the dead marching, their horrible grey flesh peeling from their bodies to reveal decayed bone. They march slow, never yielding to weakness or exhaustion. There are so many of them... more than what I saw before.

I search the Sight for answers of the battle ahead, but am only met with possible futures, possible deaths. It is nothing substantial. I can only hope that Bran's lessons will help me hold in on this ability before it is deemed too late.

But it is not only the nightmare that awakes me. Deep down, I can feel something stir in my heart. I find myself wanting to go to Robb, to check on him. I want to make sure that he is safe. Something feels off when I think about him in this moment, and I know I must go to him now.

I wrap myself in furs and glance at the crackling fire before pulling open the door. A soft chill hits me as I walk into the hallway. Our rooms are not that far apart. A few hallways to go down, a few steps to ascend. I have a suspicion that Sansa arranged our rooms to be closer, though I will not ask her about it.

When I approach Robb's door, I go to knock but hesitate. I feel so foolish coming to his room this late into the night. I consider going back to my room, but the feeling in my heart that something is wrong causes me to gently push open the door without knocking.

Amidst the room, with a grand fire still well lit, Grey Wind is the first I see. He sits at the foot of Robb's bed, staring at the doorway. He only relaxes once he actually sees me, though I'm sure he could sense me even through the door. Then I see Robb in his bed; bare chested, brow furrowed, eyes closed tightly, mumbling something harsh in his sleep as he tosses from one side of the bed to the next. His limbs are stricken, as if he's holding onto to something for dear life. He shakes his head and I can see tears begin to spill down his cheeks.

No sooner have I closed the door behind me that I rush to Robb's side. My furs slip off when I reach for him, landing in a pile beside his bed. I wipe the sweat from his brow and gently caress his face. I run my thumbs over his cheeks and call his name, soft but strong. He jerks awake, seizing my hand roughly in a motion of panic.

"Shh," I coo, brushing curls from his eyes. "It's me. It's Lysandra. I'm here."

Slowly, his breathing begins to calm. His eyes soften at the sight of me, looking to the arm he still has in his hold. He loosens his grip immediately and takes that arm in both of his hands, rubbing it gently to make up for the violent act.

"Lysandra," he says breathlessly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I shake my head and place my free hand on top of his. "You were having a nightmare."

He leans his head back against the pillow, his eyes never leaving mine. We stay there for a little while as his breathing returns to normal. His eyes trail to something lower, and I realize he's staring at the Night King's mark on the lower part of my neck and shoulder. More wounds follow closely to it, both fresh and old. He reaches out his hand and trashes it with extreme caution, careful not to cause any pain.

"It doesn't hurt that much anymore," I say, attempting a slight smile. He doesn't return it, continuing to study the marks on my body.

The sheet falls a bit lower on his chest as he moves and that is when I see the stab wounds. They're healed and scarred over, and it's the first time I've seen them. Reminders of the Red Wedding that might never be fully healed. The scar on his neck glows slightly in the firelight. Before I can stop myself, I touch his chest in turn, grazing my fingertips against the deep scars. His breathing catches, just a bit, at the action. I begin to draw my hand back and mumble an apology, but he catches my hand in his and brings it back to his chest.

"Sometimes..." he starts, his voice soft. "Sometimes I feel alone. Like part of me is still back in Braavos and another is stuck in the past. Do you ever feel that way?"

My palm is flat against his chest now, and I stroke my thumb along his skin in a gentle motion of comfort. Looking at my hand, I nod.

It's something I try to keep my mind off of. I tend to think about what I've lost, different paths I might've taken if things were different. How a life with my son may have been, though I know I gave him his best chance. I think of Jallen and how many lives I stole because of that mistake. Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision when I began having visions.

Then I look at Robb and Grey Wind, and deep down my heart promises that this path was the right one. No matter what happens to me now, what happens in the future, I know I will never forget the moments we've shared together. Nor the moments I've shared with others I hold dear now.

Robb places his hand over mine.

"I'm sorry," he says, as if he can read my mind.

I look at him then, into the sincerity of his eyes, and can't help but smile a little.

"I'm sorry too," I reply. "But it's alright. We can be alone together."

He smiles at this.

"Will you stay here with me?" he asks, hesitancy in his voice. "Just for a while. I'm afraid I won't be going back to sleep anytime soon. I'm sorry, you don't have to..."

In response, I get to my feet and motion for him to move over. He does so and I climb in next to him on top of the blankets, taking my furs with me to drape over myself. Though, the fire in this room does a substantial job of keeping the entirety of it warm.

Grey Wind comes and lays down next to the bed, and I'm certain a part of him is pouting for not being able to climb up as well.

I prop myself up on my elbow, looking down at Robb as his head rests on the pillow. I attempt to keep my gaze from his bare chest and he knows it, prompting him to smile for a moment. He makes no motion to cover himself further. We're close enough as it is, and I have to fight myself from coming any closer to him. I take a breath to steady myself which amuses Robb even more as his eyes trail from my lips to my shoulder.

Then his expression turns serious.

"Do the visions still hurt you?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply. "It's the worst when I travel from place to place. I can feel the hurt, the sorrow, the happiness of each land. It can become too much... but it's better now that I'm in Winterfell. Better now that I'm with..." I stop myself from saying 'you' and hurriedly continue on. "The nightmares will get worse now, though, I'm sure. The closer the dead get to us, the worse it will grow."

Robb absentmindedly touches my arm, caressing it a bit as he studies me. The gesture is more comforting than I'd like to admit, and the longer I stay here the more I long to touch him.

"If you try," he says. "can you see them? Is it difficult for you to manage?"

"I'm having trouble looking for what I seek," I explain. "It's as if I'm being shown things rather than looking for them myself. If I meet someone for the first time, or even if it's someone I've known forever, I will get glimpses into their past. Their feelings, their thoughts. I don't mean to, but it happens. I'm hoping..." My thoughts drift to Bran. "I'm hoping I can gain control before the battle. It can't be a coincidence that the Night King marked me, or that I have this Sight. I need to do something useful."

"You are being useful," Robb assures me. "You've helped us this far. You're one of the strongest people I know and I'm sure you'll be able to harness this. And even if you can't, that doesn't make you any less important."

I smile at the sincerity in his gaze.

"Thank you," I whisper.

We talk a long while before we both drift off to sleep, unknowingly wrapped in each other's arms.

Despite the late night, I wake early and slip out unnoticed while Robb still sleeps. I think of trying to get a little more sleep but Winterfell is slowly stirring to life. I can't bring myself to waste time sleeping when I could be training. I haven't had the opportunity to train properly since my injuries, despite a few sparring sessions with Jorah aboard the ship. I need every strength that resides in me to be at top notch when the battle arrives. Perhaps I might slip into the shadows later today and brush up on my sneaking, though I know that trait has not failed me yet.

By the time I dress and arrive at the training grounds, a few men have begun sparring and a few are brushing up on their archery. I take a bow and some arrows from a crate, eyeing a large, plain tree far up ahead. That target will do just fine.

With my daggers and sword in place, I begin to head towards it when a young man catches my eye. He swings his large sword with ease, alone, working on his technique. I know I recognize him but I can't quite place him. He takes a break, pushing his dirty blonde hair back from the sweat of his brow. He's a Knight of the Vale, that much is certain even in his leisure attire. His form is good, much different from mine but good nonetheless.

He wipes his brow and meets my eyes. I mean to look away, embarrassed for staring, but he smiles. To my surprise, he heads my way and sheathes his sword.

"You like to train just after dawn too, I take it?" he says kindly, still smiling.

His eyes are a dull blue-grey, like that of a storm. He's a little young for a knight, you can tell in his facial features, but his body is strong. It's in that moment I realize where I know him from. He was the Knight of the Vale that helped me to my feet when I collapsed at Winterfell, right after Robb revealed himself to his siblings.

I smile at the realization, taking the hand he's outstretched to me and shaking it.

"We haven't been properly introduced, my lady," he says. "Ser Leander Stone of the Vale."

"Lysandra Lannister," I say in turn.

He chuckles. "I know. You're a bit of a spectacle around here."

"Am I?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"You're either loved or hated," he replies.

"As most are, I'm sure," I tease.

"Yes, yes, but for you there is no in between. Some even consider you a hero."

I release his hand and lean towards him conspiratorially.

"I can promise you, I am not," I whisper.

His grin matches mine and he gestures to my bow and arrow.

"You're headed away from the targets, my lady."

"Just Lysandra," I correct. "And I'd rather not shoot at haybales and stab at swinging sacks."

This makes him laugh, a delightful sound.

"Nor do I," he admits. "Perhaps you can teach me your way of training? I'm in desperate need of a sparring partner."

"My methods may prove to be a bit strange."

"The stranger the better."

I nod, holding back a smile. "Very well."

Ser Leander is even better than I expected, surprising me in the best way. He's a good student, listening to every direction I give him. He's astounded by my skill with a bow and arrow. It's refreshing to be around a young man like him, not attempting to flirt or win any favors. He treats me just like he would any other. He seems to hang onto every word I say which I find rather amusing, trying to learn whatever he hasn't been taught already. He doesn't mind when I ask him how a bastard of the Vale became such an important knight. There's a quip in his response regarding how far Jon Snow himself has come.

Still, even though my guard is down during our friendly training, I'm aware of a figure watching me from a distance. A small figure that can move as agile as the wind. One that has a very small sword, almost needle-like, that many underestimate.

She waits for me in the dark. 


	21. Needle

Arya Stark approaches me long after Leander has left for other duties. I feel her before I see her, watching me from the shadows as I take a drink of water near the weaponry.

"You didn't have to hide, you know," I say, setting down my drink and turning to her. "I would've answered any questions you may have had, regardless of our company."

Arya's hands are clasped behind her as she circles around me. Finally, she settles on a few feet to my side.

"I wasn't hiding," she says coolly. "I was merely watching."

"Indeed," I say, suppressing a smile. "And what did you learn?"

"That you were holding back." She nods to the spot Leander and I were training in. "With that knight. And your training..."

"Robb told you," I guessed. "About where I learned."

Arya shakes her head. "Robb would never betray your trust. That is clear. No, I've seen it before."

"You trained to be a Faceless Man."

She doesn't say anything, taking in my appearance.

"I'll tell you whatever you'd like to know," I offer. "I'll answer honestly."

An imperceptible smile passes her lips.

"Something a dishonest person would say," she says.

"That is true."

"They say you can see things," Arya says, narrowing her eyes.

"I can."

"What kind of things?"

"Whatever the Sight allows me to see."

"A tactical response to evade an answer."

"Then make your questions more specific."

This answer seems to please her, as her face softens if only just a bit.

"Very well," she says. "Tell me something this 'Sight' allows you to see. Something specific."

I take in her guarded form as I contemplate my answer. It's as if she wants to believe, but truly doesn't.

"I can see pieces of a person's past," I say.

"Alright. What can you see in my past?" She gives me a look. "And not something others would easily know."

"Most don't like me looking at their past."

"I simply want to see if you're a liar."

I smile a bit. Then I concentrate on the feeling I get talking to Arya. I focus on her emotions, her mindset, her training. Then, very slowly, pieces begin to come together in my mind as flashes of her journey appear.

"Your journey with the Hound was unpleasant..." I start. "He was on your list. A list that has shortened greatly during your travels." If Arya is caught off guard, she doesn't let on. "But you grew to care for him over time... despite your hatred." I concentrate further. "You were blind for a time... during your training in Braavos. It is what aided you in killing a great foe."

Just as quick as it comes, it fades. I bow a little towards her.

"I hope that will suffice," I say.

She pauses for a long while.

"It'll do," she says. "Perhaps you're not a liar. At least, not about this."

"One could argue we've been trained to be liars."

She smiles and slowly unsheathes her sword, readying it at my chest.

"I promised Robb I wouldn't fight you," she says. "But I'm too intrigued. Up for another round?"

I notice a few onlookers have caught sight of a Lannister and Stark conversing. Their curiosity takes over, even when they pretend they aren't listening. Others train as usual.

"I'm not sure that'd be best-"

"Your hold on your sword is weak," Arya points out. "I noticed it when you were fighting. You need the training, to make you stronger. You can't afford to turn me down."

I know that refusing won't work, and I can't deny I'm curious myself about her technique. I ready Lionheart as well and fall into stance.

"As you wish," I say. "Though I'm not sure as to why you'd want to help me."

"Not help you," she replies, twirling her sword once. "As I said, curiosity."

Arya lashes out immediately but I'm ready for her, parrying her blow. She smiles, as if she's only toying with me until she finds her opening. When I strike, she blocks it and spins out of the way. Her movement is so delicate, yet strong, and precise.

"You held back earlier," she says, barely out of breath. "Don't do that with me."

And so we fight. Blades clash until we're both breathless, yet we still continue on. I find the motion freeing, as if I can be the fighter I am without judgement. The more we fight, the more impressed I am with Arya. She is quick and agile, much like myself, but gains an advantage over me due to her size.

She hesitates only slightly when I swing my sword near her head. She leans back just as my sword wizzes by. Our battle shouts grow with our exhaustion and frustration. We move throughout the training grounds, never missing a step. Arya finally manages to disarm me, sending my sword from my grasp. She kicks me so I fall to the ground. I sweep my legs under hers and cause her to topple a few feet from me. She's quick to maneuver but I unsheathe my dagger. Before she can move too much, I thrust it out so it stops just above her throat, keeping her still on her back. It's then I notice that she has her own dagger aimed directly above my side.

We stare at each other for a moment, catching our haggard breath, before breaking out into grins. We get up, not bothering to lend each other a hand. I nod at her.

"I expected you to be good," I say between breaths. "Just, not that good."

"Perhaps we should be careful of underestimating each other."

"Yes," I say, unable to hide a smile.

Arya nods behind us and I follow her gaze. That's when I notice we've acquired an audience during our fight. Among the crowd in the distance I recognize Jon, Queen Daenerys, Ser Jorah, Missandei, Tyrion, and Robb. Each of them hold an expression of wonder and amazement, but Queen Daenerys just seems pleased. Her mouth is settled into a small smile, and when she sees me looking at her, she nods. Tyrion keeps glancing between Jon and Robb, no doubt asking if they just witnessed the same thing he did. Jon says something to Robb and he nods, shaking his head and smiling.

I look back at Arya.

"Your brothers seem to appreciate us getting along."

She smirks. "You've earned my respect, not my trust."

"I suppose that'll have to do... for now."

Her smirk doesn't waver as she takes a few steps towards me, walking past me. She pauses next to me, keeping her eyes ahead.

"We'll train again tomorrow," she says. "That grip of yours isn't going to get stronger by itself."

Then she continues, barely acknowledging the crowd as she passes by it.

***

Time creeps by as the battle against the Night King grows closer and closer. I meet with Bran every day and can feel my mind getting clearer with each meeting. I train with Arya, sometimes more than twice a day, as well as Leander and occasionally with others; alternating between Brienne, Robb, Jon, and even Jorah when he's available. It's my way of familiarizing myself with different fighters, as well as those of various sizes. It will better equip me in the battle ahead. I cannot afford to tire.

I don't visit Robb's room every night, but I find that spending time with him eases my nightmares as well. When I'm not training, I make up lost time with Tyrion or help the others strategize for battle. Traps are built and tested far into the early hours of the day. Everyone who is able-bodied is trained without patience. The more time slips by, the more I know in my gut that my sister's army is not coming.

I sense Theon is in Winterfell before he even presents himself to Lady Sansa and Queen Daenerys. I'm too late, however, to find Robb before he attacks Theon post his reunion with Sansa, tackling him to the ground. Robb easily overpowers him, as Theon doesn't even attempt to defend himself. Sansa shouts for Robb to stop but Theon's aid of Sansa's escape does not seem to matter to Robb in this moment. Queen Daenerys is startled but does nothing to prevent it, knowing from Jon Robb and Theon's history. Though, I'm sure she'd have the guards separate them if it becomes too out of hand.

After a few punches are landed, I'm able to grasp Robb by his shoulders and pull him away from Theon. Robb seems ready to fight, but his eyes instantly soften at the sight of me, my touch relaxing him. He stands and gently takes my hands off of him, holding them for a moment before letting go. He looks over his shoulder at Theon; still on the ground with his hands up in caution. Sansa kneels to his side, casting a weary look between the two men.

"Long ago, I promised to end your life," Robb says to him. "But for the sake of my sister, I'll let you live."

Then, like a shadow, he disappears from the hall.

***

"You disappear almost as easily as me," I tease Robb when I find him sitting in the Godswood, his back against the big tree. Grey Wind is curled near his feet. "Sitting in the snow, I see?"

He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. His gaze seems far away as he takes in the scenery.

I sit a few feet from him, ignoring the bite of the snow through my clothes. I give Grey Wind a scratch behind one of his ears.

"How goes your training with my siblings?" he asks. His words seem as far away as his mind.

"No visions, yet. But the images hurt less. I'm slowly beginning to see what I wish."

He nods. "Good. That's good. And with Arya?"

"You know as well as anyone what my fighting is like," I say. He smiles a bit. "But your sister terrifies me. I admire her for it."

Robb chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

"Now, are you going to tell me what's running through that handsome head of yours?" I ask, making a deliberate tapping sound on my knee.

His smile fades a little. "Nothing of importance."

"Robb, you've never been able to lie to me."

"How do you know I'm lying?"

I lean forward. "Because you're not looking at me."

Finally, Robb's eyes meet mine. He's frowning slightly. His eyes look tired, as if the sleepless nights are beginning to catch up with him.

"What is it?" I ask gently.

His attention shifts fully to me now, though he hesitates before he speaks.

"I need to know something," he says, his voice quiet.

I nod for him to continue.

"We've built a strong friendship over the years," he says. "One of trust and respect, one of loyalty. I suppose..." He hesitates. "I need to know if that's all this is."

The question takes me aback. I expected his worries to lie with Theon and his return to Winterfell, or perhaps even with the Night King or the readiness of our armies.

"Robb..." I shake my head.

He leans towards me, taking my hands gingerly in his. His eyes don't leave mine.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I realize how poor the timing is. I know you already have so much on your shoulders. It's wrong of me to ask... but every time I look at you... it takes everything in me not to touch you. To feel your warmth, to see your smile that you hide from others. I don't care for titles or battles or queens. All I want is you."

He wipes away the tears forming in my eyes, leaving his hands to caress my face. He gently kisses my forehead.

"You brought me back to my home, to my family," Robb says, his voice still strong. "But it was more than that. You made me want to live again, Lysandra. Whether you know it or not, you saved my life."

His words are everything I want to hear, what I wanted to hear so long ago, and yet it only fills me with more dread. I know not what the Sight has in store for me, for us. And deep down I fear... I fear that it will take him from me; in one way or the next.

I gently take his hands from my face, leaving them in my hold. I shake my head.

"I'm sorry, Robb," I say weakly. "I can't."

The anguish is only present in his eyes as he keeps his face collected. It's as if this was what he expected all along. As if I couldn't possibly feel for him in the way he does for me. But if only he knew the danger ahead... the uncertainty... if only he understood how hazardous I may be. For him, for all of us. There is no telling what the Night King has planned. His mark on me begins to ache at the very thought of him.

"I see," Robb says. And the words cut my heart worse than a blade ever could.

He slowly retracts his hands from mine and gets to his feet. Grey Wind sits up at the movement, eyeing his master curiously. I wipe my eyes clear before standing as well. Robb's eyes look anywhere but at me.

"I should get back," he says. His voice is measured but not unkind. "I'll see you at dinner."

As he starts to walk away, I take his arm.

"Wait, please," I say, a slight tremble in my voice.

He does, but can't quite look at me.

"You have to understand," I continue, wincing as the Night King's mark continues to pain me. "There is so much at stake right now. I don't know what purpose the Sight has for me, or even if that purpose goes beyond this battle we face. I don't know what the Night King wants with Bran or me or any of it. I know how strong my connection is to you, Robb. The pain I hold lessens when I'm around you. I feel _whole_ when I'm with you. But this is far beyond you and me. And it may be easy for you to tell me your feelings for me but-"

" _Easy_?" He repeats through a harsh laugh. He turns to me, taking a step out of my hold. "You think this is easy for me? Every time I think about being happy I see Talisa's death. Our unborn child stabbed mercilessly. Every time I would look at you a certain way I would feel like I was betraying their memory. And one morning years later, I found myself realizing that I have to move on. To live _for_ them. Because that's the only true way we can honor those we've lost. To live. And you... you mention that I take your pain away. Lysandra, you've done that for me since I laid eyes on you."

I go to respond, to reach out for him, but the pain of the mark is overwhelming now. I cry out, clutching my shoulder. Robb's fierce gaze turns to worry.

"Lysandra?"

I reach a hand out. "I'm fine. I-"

But I double over as another wave of pain hits me.

Robb is by my side in an instant. His arm is secure around my waist as he lowers me to the ground, his other hand gripping my outstretched one.

"What is it?" he asks, panic growing in his voice. "What's happening?"

The sight of his face morphs into something else. A landscape, something made from darkness and ice. I can still hear Robb's voice.

"I'm having..." I struggle to speak. "A vision."

"Don't be afraid," Robb says. "You're safe."

"Stay with me?"

"Always." The grip on my hand grows tighter. "Just hold onto me. I'm right here."

Robb's touch helps me to grasp onto reality as I'm thrown further into the scene before my eyes. At first, I see the dead marching. I can feel how close they're getting to Winterfell. The Wall has fallen. I see Tormund and Beric fleeing, a corpse nailed to the wall in a grotesque mutilation to form a spiral.

Then I hear another urgent voice.

"What in the hells happened to her?"

"She collapsed," Robb explains, his voice strained. "She's having a vision."

"Shouldn't we get her inside? A crowd is forming."

"I'm afraid to move her, Arya."

"Arya?" I say, but my voice seems drowned out.

"I'm here, Lysandra," she says. It's strange to hear worry in her voice. Then she addresses Robb. "You stay with her. I'll take care of them."

Another shock of pain causes me to jolt. Robb cradles me fully in his arms. Grey Wind whines, nuzzling my legs.

"Shh," he coos. "It's alright. I'm here."

As the scene shifts, I hear father's song, something I haven't heard in a long time. Something that has always meant certain death.

I see Winterfell in shambles, fire and ice collided in death and destruction. So many lie dead. Faces both familiar and not. I see Jorah, bloodied and broken. I see Theon on the ground with a spear through his heart. Jon, Daenerys, Bran, Arya, all dead. Countless others, dead. Then I see a wounded Robb as he reaches for his dagger, a dark figure looming towards him. I know he will not escape. He will die. Just like the rest of us.

Our fates are doomed.

Screaming fills the air, and it's only when my vision clears that I realize it's me. Robb tries to console me but I feel like I'm still trapped somewhere else. Somewhere cold, merciless, and dark.

We'll die. We're all going to perish.

I hear Arya shout for people to get back, though I do not know who has approached us. The last thing I see is Robb's panic-stricken face...

Before everything turns to black.

***

When I awake, daylight bleeds in through the window. I come to slowly. The aching in my head has subsided and my heart has returned to its steady pace. I'm immediately aware of a presence in the room, and I snap my head over to my left.

Bran sits in my room. He watches me carefully, patiently. The way one would at a curious piece of new weaponry. I take a steadying breath.

"Please tell me I wasn't out for days," I say.

"No," Bran says. "Just for the night. You missed our meeting this morning. It is now late afternoon."

It's hard to decipher if and when he's joking.

"Apologies," I say.

"You lost control," he says.

I nod. "The Night King's mark... it just started burning. Did you not feel it?"

"I felt it," he says. "Just in a different way. He is growing stronger."

"The dead will be here in half a fortnight," I say, instantly remembering my vision.

For the first time since I've known him, Bran looks troubled.

"Yes," is all he says.

"I have to talk to the queen."

"You will." He nods. "But right now, your mind needs rest, I'm afraid. Everyone is rather worried about you. They'd be here if their duties didn't bring them elsewhere."

My mind drifts to Robb. I remember the conversation we had before I collapsed. The sight of seeing him so close to death in my vision... I don't imagine I'll ever forget it. Or the horrendous ways my allies were strewn about on the battlefield.

"Before you sneak off after I leave," Bran says, clearly knowing me all too well. "You have a visitor. One I imagine you'll want to talk to. They caused quite a disturbance upon their arrival."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Who?"

But Bran only calls to have someone escort him from the room, sharing a knowing look with me before he departs. It's only a few moments before my door opens again.

And there he is. His steps heavy, his eyes weary, his beard thick and full.

I fight back tears as Jaime Lannister enters the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought the title was fitting for this chapter. Not only does Lysandra bond with Arya, but Lysandra is also pricked with needles of her own. What do you think of Lysandra's response to Robb's confession? Are her thoughts justified?


	22. Honor Among Lions

Jaime hovers by the door, shifting his feet slightly and rubbing his hands together. He looks older somehow. As if the last few weeks without him have turned him into this rugged man before me. And yet, he looks even better. He looks... free.

"They told me you collapsed," he says finally.

"It was nothing," I reply, my guard up. "My mind doesn't always do what I tell it to."

There's a long, strained pause in the air.

"I can assume our sister didn't keep her word," I say. "But that doesn't explain why you're here... alone."

"I made a promise. I intend to honor that promise."

"I'm surprised Queen Daenerys didn't have you roasted alive."

Jaime grimaces. "She wished it, yes. But our brother pleaded on my behalf... and Lady Brienne of Tarth vouched for me. She and Lady Sansa stayed the queen's hand."

I study his movements and I can tell at the mention of Brienne's name, Jaime is visibly moved by whatever the lady said during his trial. He quickly composes himself.

I nod to him. "I am glad you're alive, brother. I'm sure we will need your skill in the upcoming battle."

"I don't if I'll be of much use," he says, motioning to his golden hand. "But I will do my best to fight for the living."

Another pause.

"I know you will," I say quietly. "Now, if that's all, brother-"

"Stalia is safe," he cuts me off. "She is with her family in Dorne the last I heard of her. I lied before... to hurt you."

I had my suspicions, but the relief is evident when he says these words. Stalia did not fall victim to the Lannisters' feud. Thank the gods.

"Thank you for telling me."

Another pregnant pause fills the room and I hold back the tears that threaten to surface. So many old wounds between us. So many memories, the good and the bad. It has never been easy for us, and we both know it.

He doesn't let me say anything else. He's hesitant, a weary look on his face, but he strides to my side of the bed immediately and kneels down. Bowing his head, he says but two words.

"Forgive me."

The words sound broken and desperate, so unlike my brother at any normal capacity. They throw me off guard, at least for a moment. I can feel the emotion behind his words. He doesn't believe I'll forgive him for anything. He's sure he has strayed too far to be held in good favor for me once again. He is afraid, and not in the cowardly way a knight should never be.

He fears he has lost me.

"For most of my life," I say. "I used to hold you on a pedestal. My big brother Jaime, who would always protect me and do no wrong. Who would bring honor always and never do me harm."

"Lysandra-"

"I've always put so much pressure on you to be the perfect brother," I continue. "I neglected to realize that you are only human." He looks at me then, his eyes shining with emotion. "And you are _good_ , despite what you may think. And yes, I know about Bran and the true reason you killed the Mad King. I've seen. I've also seen the true man you are today. I know you're sorry, brother. As am I. I'm sorry I've been so hard on you."

Jaime blinks a few times, as if to try to shake the shock from his face.

"I thought sending you to the Freys would protect you," he says, doubt in his voice. "I know it doesn't make sense now..."

I place a hand on his shoulder.

"I _know_ , Jaime." I say gently. "I know, and you're forgiven."

He narrows his eyes. "Just like that."

I smile.

"Just like that. I've grown tired of fighting, especially those I love. The fighting should be reserved for the true enemy."

"By the gods, what have they done to you here in Winterfell that's made you so wise?"

I laugh and so does he.

"So, Brienne," I say, raising an eyebrow. "She's the reason you're not dead right now?"

"Yes," he says, a tad exasperated. "Don't start."

"Whatever do you mean?" I ask, feigning innocence.

"Please, Lysandra. It's still early in the day and I'm weary."

"Fine, fine. Though what kind of sister would I be if I didn't torture you?"

"A merciful one," he pleads. "Also." He reaches into his bag. "I brought you something."

"For me?"

I laugh in surprise when he hands me _The Secret of Ivy_ ; The book I always carried with me because of him when we were young. I run my hands over the beautiful, smooth cover. He studies me, a slight smirk on his face.

I smile at him and squeeze his shoulder.

"How thoughtful," I say. "Have you eaten?"

"No. After the trial, I came straight to see you."

"Let's get you something to eat then. I'm sure you're famished."

"The Maester said you were to stay in bed."

I give him a look.

"Right. Let me at least fetch your coat."

We eat with Tyrion in the Great Hall, far from the scowling looks of others. Despite everyone's pestering that I should've stayed in bed, I manage to convince Queen Daenerys that our battle is far more important than my rest. I'm to meet with her later to discuss the threat further, having already informed anyone who will listen that the Night King will be here in half a fortnight.

"We're running out of time," I say as Jaime practically scarfs down his stew. "We're not prepared. Not _nearly_ prepared for what's to come."

"You really have been a shadow of doom and gloom the past few days," Tyrion points out. "You used to be fun."

I look at him. "You know I'm right."

"And what do you suggest we do about it?"

"We need to move _faster_."

"Meaning?"

"Train faster, design faster, plan faster, build _faster_ ," I say. "We can't afford to remain at a steady pace."

"And we can't afford overworking everyone by the time the battle comes," Jaime says. He wipes his mouth.

I sigh, running my hands through my hair. "I know. I know."

" _Breathe_ , Lysandra." Jaime pats my hand. "You're not going to do anyone any good if you lose your head."

"And yet, she's _so_ calm in battle," Tyrion tells him with a shake of his head.

I snap my fingers, looking at Jaime. "Speaking of that, we need to get you on the training grounds when you're better rested."

"I'm afraid I'm not the fighter I used to be, Little Shadow. I've tried to train-"

"Bronn's methods are shit. You're going to train with _me_ from now on."

Tyrion snorts at this, casting an amused look between us. Jaime furrows his eyebrows at him.

"What?"

"You're in trouble." Tyrion chuckles.

I point at him. "You should be brushing up on your fighting as well."

"No need." He waves his hand. "I'm sure our queen will be more than happy to see me go. I've let her down more times than I can count. I'm afraid she won't be as forgiving this time."

"Regardless," I say. " _I_ would rather like to see you survive, whether you're in hiding or in the middle of battle."

"You're too kind, sister."

"Exactly how often _do_ you train?" Jaime asks, still eyeing me. "And how much do these visions show you?"

"Enough to know most of the fighting techniques used here," I say. Then I grimace. "And enough to know that Cersei claims to be pregnant."

Jaime shoots Tyrion a look who shrugs.

"I didn't tell her," he says.

"She _is_ pregnant," Jaime tells me.

"So she says."

"You don't believe her?" Tyrion asks, intrigued.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Always so untrusting." Jaime shakes his head.

"Can you really blame her, brother?" Tyrion asks. "We all know what it's like to fall for Cersei's deception."

I cover Tyrion's wine goblet with my hand and bring it back towards me. He gives me a pouty look.

"That's enough of the wine," I say. "You made a mistake. Stop whining about it and work to make up for it. You're not dead yet, and you're still Hand of the Queen."

"For now," he grumbles.

"Speaking of the queen," I say mostly to myself and rise from the table. "I should be off to see her soon."

"And have you spoken to the Young Wolf?" Tyrion asks with a raised eyebrow. "He was rather worried about you."

"Why must you always refer to him as 'the Young Wolf'?"

"Why must you always refuse to speak of him?"

I give him a look and he gives me one in turn. Jaime looks between the two of us, realization finally crossing his face.

"Robb Stark." He looks at me in disbelief. " _That's_ who you're taken with?"

"I am not _taken_ with anyone."

"It was so strange seeing him at the trial," he says to Tyrion, clearly disregarding what I've said.

"Like seeing a ghost?" Tyrion asks. Jaime nods. "Myself as well when I first saw him."

I can't help but smile at the two of them. Despite what is happening all around us, they're so at ease with each other. It comforts me to know they'll have each other.

"I'll find you two later," I promise. "Try not to get into too much mischief in my absence."

"We'll wait until you join us, then," Tyrion says with a wide grin. Jaime winks at me, then waves his hand at me as if to tell me it's taken care of.

I roll my eyes but smile before leaving the Hall.

***

The demeanor between Daenerys and Jon is strange today. It's strained, as if a heavy weight is burdened upon them, and not just with the obvious threat. They're only looking at each other when they have to and their movements are stiff towards the other. Ser Jorah and Grey Worm seem to notice as well. I try to stay out of it. I really do, but the Sight pulls me towards them anyway... and I see.

Jon is a Targaryen, not a bastard as everyone has believed. And now... now I don't know what this means. Not for them, not for the rest of us. Jon will always be a threat to the Dragon Queen, whether she sees it that way now or not. Even though Jon would never want to take the Iron Throne... there is no telling what kind of turmoil will be caused if everyone finds out.

"What else did you see, Lady Lysandra?" Jon asks.

"The Night King isn't just coming here to wipe out our forces," I reply, remembering my vision. "He is coming for something in particular. A way to end all light and all traces of memory from these lands."

"And what would that be?" Daenerys asks, taking a step towards me.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Your Grace. I have my suspicions... but nothing is certain. I promise you I will not rest until I find the answer to your question."

She nods. "As you've noted, time is not a value that we have."

"No," I say. "But I have been training with Bran Stark and I assure you, we will find what we seek."

She nods again, and I can see the trust in her eyes. But there's a distance there I can't quite comprehend. She feels isolated... and isolating dragons can be a very fickle thing.

"And how are you feeling?" she asks, her voice more gentle than before.

I smile politely. "Rested, Your Grace."

"You had us worried," Jon says.

"Apologies. It was not my intention."

The comment makes Jon smile.

"And your brother..." Daenerys says. "You trust him?"

"Unlike my sister, Ser Jaime believes in fighting for the good of all. Yes, I trust that his intentions are true. And, if I may be so bold, though his recent actions may prove Tyrion a fool, I can assure you, he is not. Lannister men have always been susceptible to Cersei's cunning."

"But not you?"

I smile without humor.

"Not me. My sister took my innocence long ago out of jealousy. I wouldn't be able to buy into her schemes even if I tried... but forgive Tyrion, if you can. He has always tried to believe the best in his family."

The room is silent for a moment as my words hang in the air.

"I should get back to my training," I say. "We have more fresh recruits today. Every moment of preparation counts."

"Of course," Queen Daenerys says. "You'll let me know if you see anything else?"

"You have my word, Your Grace."

I bow to her and head towards the door. Ser Jorah opens the door for me.

"Perhaps I might escort you to the training grounds, my lady?" he asks.

I hide my surprise and nod to him. I walk through the door with him close behind. It isn't a far walk to the training grounds, but we walk slowly as if in sync with the other.

"You've something to say to me, Ser Jorah?"

"Perhaps I was going to check on you, but I'm afraid far too many have already asked how you're fairing."

I smile. "I appreciate the thought, but I am fine. The Sight does take a lot out of me from time to time, but I see now that it is my duty."

"Duty to the queen?"

"To the realm," I say, glancing at him. "But yes, also to the queen."

We walk in silence for a moment, taking in the melted snow on the pathways and the glistening of ice on the bare trees. Sounds of swords clashing and anvils hitting metal in the pits fill the air. It's noisy, yet somehow peaceful. And I can't help but think of Robb somewhere, ordering men about to get work done and to further plan for battle. I've been avoiding him all day, but I feel he has been avoiding me as well. Our last conversation was not the happiest, nor the most comforting. I wish I could help him understand... but I fear no one but I will ever be able to.

"The Sight weighs on you," Jorah says, bringing me back from my thoughts. "I can see it, even when you're not having a vision. It's as if your thoughts are always... somewhere else."

"I promise I'm paying attention to you," I tease.

He smiles. "That's not what I meant... but I'm pleased I can keep your attention."

He holds my gaze for a moment before looking ahead. Tyrion's words on the boat echo in my mind, and I can't help but feel flattered for Jorah's attention, though I'm not necessarily sure I share the same affection towards him. There's something between us I can't quite explain. I feel comfortable around him... safe even. It's easy to be near him, easy to talk to him. I trusted him almost instantly after we met, and trust is not something I dole out lightly.

We reach the training grounds where I see Brienne and Jaime talking in the distance, looking at something unseen. I smile to myself at the sight.

"Are you glad to have your brother back, Lady Lysandra?"

I look at Jorah who is smiling at me knowingly. I shrug playfully.

"Perhaps," I say. "Though, don't tell him I said so."

"Not a word."

I gesture to the men of various ages training.

"Care to have a sparring session?" I ask. "It never hurts to train."

"No, my lady. I must be getting back to our queen."

"I understand. She's very lucky to have you."

He nods. "Thank you for your kind words."

"They're only the truth."

I see Leander wave to the two of us before jogging over. Sweat lies on his brow and he wipes it away, grinning breathlessly.

"I figured the Maester couldn't keep you resting for long," he says, his grin growing wider.

I smile and shake my head. I gesture to Leander.

"Ser Jorah Mormont, have you met Ser Leander Stone?"

"Only in passing," Jorah extends a hand and Leander takes it heartily.

"It's an honor, Ser Jorah," Leander says. "I've only heard good things about you."

"That's a relief."

Leander chuckles. "Will you be joining us then?"

"Perhaps later. I must be getting back to the queen, but it was a pleasure to meet you, Ser Leander." Jorah nods to me. "Lady Lysandra."

I nod in turn and Jorah sets off the way he came. Leander looks to me.

"How are you-"

"For the love of all gods, _please_ do not ask how I'm feeling."

He laughs. "Very well. I wondered if you wanted to switch recruits today."

"And why would I do that?"

"Well, your brother was rather insistent that you train with him rather than anyone else."

"You met Jaime?"

"Oh, yes." He gestures to Jaime who is now standing alone. "He seems very kind despite his reputation. Though, I will say he was a bit taken aback when I referred to him as 'Ser Jaime'."

"Ah, yes," I say, my voice icing over a bit. "Many prefer to call him 'Kingslayer', I suppose."

He nods as if in understanding.

"Well, that word will never leave my lips."

I smile at him, surprised at how fond I've grown of him in such a short amount of time.

"Thank you, Leander."

A gentle smile rests on his face as he lightly squeezes my shoulder.

"Let me take the new recruits," he says. "Spend some time with your brother."

And before I can attempt to argue, he heads off in the direction of the group.

***

It's right before dinner when Robb and I finally bump in to each other. I'm headed to a table that seats: Jaime, Tyrion, Brienne, and Podrick. The Hound sits with Beric, who just arrived with Tormund not long ago to reveal the truth behind my vision. The Wall has fallen, and the dead will be here in a matter of days. After greeting Beric and Tormund, I'm stopped by Robb as I head to my designated table.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you sooner," he says over the noisy hall.

"Don't be," I say. "I didn't exactly make our last conversation easy on you."

He shakes his head. "I promise it had nothing to do with that. Though, perhaps I needed to clear my head a bit. But I should've checked on you sooner."

I smile. "Please. It's alright. I'm okay, I promise. Though, if one more person asks me that, I _may_ have blood on my hands by the end of the night."

Robb laughs. "Noted. Do you mind if I join you?"

I gesture to the table, where Jaime and Tyrion are already sneaking glances at us.

"I don't know if you'd like the company," I say gently.

His jaw clenches slightly at the sight of Jaime again, but when he looks at me his blue eyes are soft.

"If you're there, that's all that matters to me."

I pat his arm. "Very well, then."

The conversation at the table is immediately hushed at the sight of me and Robb sitting down. Even Podrick and Brienne seem tense as they glance between Robb and the Lannister brothers. Robb and Tyrion have at least smoothed things over, though there wasn't as much animosity between them as there was between Robb and Jaime. Jaime nods to Robb, who doesn't nod in return.

"Stark," Jaime says. "The last time we spoke, I was your prisoner."

"Yes," Robb says with a slow, wry smile. "I believe Grey Wind will be anxious to see you again."

Jaime visibly tenses at the mention of the direwolf, and Tyrion clears his throat.

"Wine," Tyrion says, a little too loudly. "Wine makes everything better."

He motions for one of the servants to bring another pitcher. They hand him one and he quickly pours us all a drink, except for me as I cover my goblet.

" _Thank you_ ," he tells the woman before she's off to another table.

"We're all allies now," I say as the others sip their wine. "It doesn't matter if we like each other." I look between Jaime and Robb. "What matters is we unite against the common threat."

Jaime sighs, leaning back. "Right, as usual, sister."

Robb levels his gaze at him.

"It does not go unnoticed that you've chosen to fight for Winterfell," he says. "That does not make us anywhere near friends, but Lysandra is right. We are allies in this fight."

Jaime nods curtly. And thankfully, Tyrion is right. The wine does help to lower the wall built up ever so slightly. I, with the help of Brienne, Pod, and Tyrion, am able to deflect the conversation elsewhere. Even recounting battle stories without drawing too much attention to the Stark vs. Lannister side of things. Robb even laughs at me when a passing soldier calls Jaime 'Kingslayer' and I grip the poor young man by his collar, threatening to break a finger if he doesn't piss off.

I enjoy the company and still, I feel uneasy. I thought perhaps it was the aftermath of the vision from the day before, but it's more than that. It's enough to make me keep my guard up, to refuse to drink even though Tyrion and Jaime poke jest at me for it. The dead can't be here... it's far too early. And yet, I can feel danger lurking not so far off.

I'm quickly pulled into a conversation about childhood as a Lannister.

"You should have seen Lysandra as a child." Tyrion laughs. "Always running around the castle, making us race against her."

"A _child_?" Jaime scoffs. "She didn't grow out of that for a _while_. She's still the faster runner I know."

"It's almost chilling," Tyrion teases.

Robb laughs, looking at me.  
"I'd like to see this famous run," Robb teases.

"You're all insufferable," I say, though I can't hide a smile.

A servant girl approaches us, pitcher in hand.

"More wine?" she asks politely.

"Please!" Tyrion says with a grin.

Before I can cover my goblet, she pours more wine into each of our cups. Brienne gives Pod a look, making him turn down the glass. I go to shove my goblet away when Tyrion makes a clicking sound with his tongue.

"No," he says. "You must have _one_ drink. I won't allow anything less."

"If it'll keep you from pestering me, I will have one _sip_."

Tyrion rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine. But I will get you drunk once this battle is over."

I chuckle and bring the goblet to my lips. I freeze suddenly, the cool of the metal etching into my fingertips.

There it is, that feeling. Only stronger this time.

I quickly cover Robb's mouth, startling him, before he can bring the drink to his lips.

"Don't drink that," I say firmly.

I carefully take my hand away and he looks at me in surprise. I look to the others.

"Don't touch the wine," I say louder.

Their eyes are on me, some goblets hovering in mid drink, as I pick up the new pitcher from the table. I run my hand along the walls of it, feeling for something unseen to the naked eye. I bring my hand to my face and rub my fingers together. Then I bring it to my nose, inhaling for the scent I suspect.

"It's poisoned," I say.

"What?"

I smack the goblet from Tyrion's readied hand. I stand abruptly, ignoring the bewilderment on his face.

"It's poisoned!" I say urgently. "Don't drink anything." I look to the rest of them. "Don't drink a damn thing!"

My focus remains on the threat, even as I'm pestered with questions. I urgently look around and spot the servant girl just disappearing around the corner. Without any explanation, I walk briskly through the crowd and around tables. I ignore the calls from behind me, and the urgent stares from the head table as they sense something amiss. I just focus on my target.

I round the same corner the girl did before and walk outside of the Great Hall. A chill of Winterfell air hits my face as I quickly take in my dark surroundings. I search for any sign of the girl that left us the poisoned wine, but see nothing.

Then I feel a presence from behind me, obscured by the shadows. I'm barely able to counter the attack as a figure emerges from behind me, blade readied. I slam the stranger into the wall and the two of us wrestle each other to the ground. The blade glistens menacingly in the moonlight as it aims for my throat. I grab the wrist, unable to reach my own weapon. I use my attacker's weight against them, bringing my knee to their abdomen in a swift kick.

I can see traces of the girl's face flashing in the lantern light, but I know it is not her true face. This type of attack is unlike others I've encountered in recent time. This is a technique I know all too well.

I use my weight to push off the attacker, landing my foot against their wrist as I kick the blade away. I reach for my dagger but my attacker is too quick. Within seconds, I'm slammed against the wall, my head hitting the rough building and disorienting me. I cradle my head and force myself to stand, using the wall as a crutch. I'm ready for another attack, but nothing comes.

That's when they step into the full light of the nearest lantern. The young woman is looking almost curiously at me, as if studying my stance. It's a look I recognize, despite the different face. Then a hand comes to the face, and the attacker unmasks their true self. Even though I've readied myself in the past few moments, I still can't quite believe who I see standing before me.

Rewan.

My old instructor sighs at the sight of me. I'm unable to form words.

"I had hoped this would have ended differently," he says. "But I suppose hope is a fickle thing."

He doesn't make another move to fight, instead he looks towards the hallway we came out of.

"We're about to be interrupted," he says. "But I fear this is far from over."

Within seconds, Jaime and Robb are the first to arrive at the scene. They take one glance at me before rushing the assassin, easily overpowering him as he does not even attempt to struggle. More guards appear, along with Ser Jorah and Jon Snow, followed by Sandor and Beric. Ser Jorah looks at the restrained man and then at me.

"Hold still, my lady," he says.

He caresses my face as blood begins to trickle down. I can feel some of it matting my hair, but I am otherwise unharmed.

"Who is this man?" Jon demands, directing his question to no one in particular.

Jaime and Robb look to me expectantly. Finally, I find my words.

"He is a Faceless Man of Braavos."


	23. Valar Dohaeris

_*this chapter includes Lysandra's POV as well as 3rd person encounters regarding the actions of other characters*_

"He cannot stay here."

"And what would you have me do with him?"

"Execute him," Robb says, and it's dangerously close to an order. "Burn him alive, decapitate him, hang him in the streets, I care not. Let us be rid of him."

Queen Daenerys settles back into her chair, eyeing the Young Wolf carefully. Then she directs herself to Ser Jorah.

"Has anyone ingested the poison?"

"No, Your Grace," Jorah replies. "It seems only one table was targeted, but that is not to say your life isn't in danger if you grant this man mercy."

"Why would a Faceless Man be sent here?" Jon asks. "What business could he possibly have with this battle?"

"He refuses to speak to anyone," says Grey Worm.

"Then _make_ him talk," Robb hisses.

Grey Worm glares at him. "We've tried."

"Try harder."

"Enough," Daenerys says, standing. "We can't afford to give this foolishness any more thought. Not with the impending threat upon us."

"Agreed," Jon says. "We can't afford any more targets on us. We must be done with it."

"None of you were the target."

One by one, the others turn to look at me. I've been standing towards the back of the room, away from prying eyes. I've felt numb ever since Rewan's appearance last night. I've barely spoken to anyone, let alone give up any information. Deep down, I know why he's here. I know what must be done... and I'm careful not to let the fear register on my face.

I straighten my posture, levelling my gaze at Daenerys. 

  
"The threat was never intended towards you, Your Grace." I keep my voice steady. "Nor was it anyone else outside of one person. The only reason the wine pitcher at the table was targeted was because I was the one who sat there."

  
The others exchange glances as Daenerys waits for me to continue.

  
"Rewan is not his real name," I continue. "As many Faceless Men never reveal their first true name, but it is the name I know him by. He trained me and gave me shelter during my journey to find Robb Stark. He made me what I am."

  
"Then why would he try to harm you?" Ser Jorah asks.

  
"I believe if he truly meant to kill me, I would not be standing here among you. Detecting poison is one of the very first practices we are taught." I look to where Tyrion and Jaime stand. "The rest at the table were merely pawns in the way."

"What does he want with you?" asks Tyrion.

"I'm not certain..." I pause. "But I believe he is here to dole out punishment for a crime I committed long ago."

"And what crime would this be?" Daenerys asks.

My eyes meet Robb's and he shakes his head, knowing the crime I'm referring to. He knows better than anyone how much it has affected me.

"You don't have to speak of it," Robb says.

"Actually, I'm afraid she does," the queen says firmly.

I nod to Robb, attempting to ease his worry a bit. His icy blue eyes watch me, sorrow glimmering behind them.

"I murdered an innocent," I say. "A man who did nothing but help me when I had no one else."

"Her master ordered her to," Robb snaps.

"But I followed that order," I argue. "I could have refused, but I didn't. And an innocent, kind man is now lost forever."

"Innocents die every day," Daenerys says. "I like it no more than you, but we can't be responsible for all of them."

"That may be true, Your Grace. But this death could have been avoided if it wasn't for my judgment. I fear Rewan will not leave until justice has been served."

"It is not his choice whether he _leaves_ or not," Robb says, his voice rising. "We must end this now."

"You do that," I say. "And more Faceless Men will arrive in his stead. It will only hinder our progress in preparation for battle."

"Then we kill them as well."

"Robb, please," Jon says, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Lysandra, what do you suggest we do?"

I take a breath, very aware of all eyes on me.

"I must speak with Rewan alone to be sure. Only then will we know the true purpose here."

After a moment, Queen Daenerys nods.

"Very well."

***

Rewan stares at me through the confines of his cell, looking strangely relaxed and poised as he always does. He's exactly as I remember him. Stoic expression, longer hair, nearly clean-shaven. His brown eyes are dark, almost black, leading his appearance to make you feel all the more uneasy. Also knowing it's not his true face, never knowing his true face... it brings a strange sense of power on his end, and he knows it; whether he acts like he realizes it or not.

"Why are you here, Rewan?"

He cocks his head to me, studying my movement. I'm careful not to give him any reaction he's searching for. He's trained me well and he knows it.

"Why do you believe I'm here, Shadow?"

I cross my arms, taking a steady breath before answering.

"You're here to kill me."

"Ah," he says with a slight smile. "And you'd be correct."

"You're here for a trial by combat."

"So to speak, yes."

"And what crime have I committed?"

He nods to me. "You know."

I feel my eyebrows furrow as I take in his knowing look. A cold sensation works from my core to my very fingertips. I try but fail to smother the rage boiling inside me at the hypocrisy of the insinuation. My jaw clenches and the sweat on the back of my neck turns cold. Rewan's face relaxes, his eyes filled with pity.

"You dare come here," I say, my voice cold. "And charge me with Jallen's death."

The very action of saying Jallen's name causes my heart to shatter, because the guilt is still raw. I've tried so hard move on, but his face is always on the back of my mind.

"It is not of my doing," Rewan says. "But it is my duty."

"Then whose is it? The Many-Faced God?" I scoff. "You claim to care about honor and _duty_ when-"

"It is the wish of Mateo."

And that's when I feel the color drain from my face. My mind immediately drifts to the carving of the boat I still keep locked away in my satchel, along with the faces tucked away. Mateo, little Mateo, the boy who was so kind to me. The boy whose father I murdered for my own personal gain. He's found out my treachery, somehow, and has demanded that justice be served.

"The boy came to the House of Black and White," Rewan says. "He asked the Faceless Men to take justice for his father's murder. He did not know the name of the murderer, only that he wished for the Many-Faced God to deal judgement on him. I've been sent to honor that request."

It matters not that Mateo doesn't know it was me, or if he has his suspicions, what matters is that my darkness has finally caught up with me. Justice will be served, fate will be dealt as the god sees fit. It is the way of the Faceless Men.

"Then it shall be done," is all I say. Then I leave Rewan in his cell to stare after me as I disappear into the shadows.

I stand with Arya in front of the queen. We are joined by countless others of importance as I inform them of what is to be done.

"A trial by combat," Queen Daenerys says in disbelief. "You expect me to send one of my worthy allies to their death?"

"I do not plan to lose, Your Grace."

"This is madness, Lysandra," Robb says, stepping out of line. His blue eyes are ablaze with cold fury. "You're allowing your guilt to cloud your judgement."

"My _judgment_ is clear, Lord Stark," I say, unable to control the edge in my voice. Ignoring the guarded hurt in his eyes, I address the queen again. "This is the only way. We must ensure there are no more interruptions to hinder our preparation for battle."

"Surely these Faceless Men will not bother themselves with missions of revenge when the Night King comes for us all," she replies.

"No," I agree. "But I'm afraid I must do this, Your Grace."

"Must you?" Jaime speaks up, glancing at the others in a controlled fury. "Must you throw your life away over troubles of the past?"

"A past that has caught up to me, brother."

"This is Lysandra's choice," Arya says, looking from Jaime to Daenerys. "The Faceless Men do not forget, nor do they allow crimes to go unpunished."

"So you would have her sent to her death?" Robb asks incredulously.

"It is the way of the Faceless Men, Robb," she replies. A pity resides in her voice. "It is not up to me."

"Enough," I say, holding up a hand. "With your permission, Your Grace, the trial by combat will take place at first light. It will be located outside the city walls, and will not interfere with everyday preparation. The victor will be the one left standing."

A cluster of arguments ring throughout the hall. Jon, although unhappy as well, attempts to reason with Robb but to no avail, Jaime and Tyrion watch me silently with grim faces, Sansa protests to Daenerys and shrugs off Theon's attempts to calm her. My eyes remain locked on the queen's. She rises from her seat, quieting everyone with the movement.

"If this is what you wish, Lady Lysandra," Daenerys says. "Then your trial is set at dawn."

Taking one last look at a grim Arya, I nod to the queen and leave the room before I can be confronted.

***

I sit in front of the vanity, wielding a dagger in my hand as I contemplate my hair. It's grown out a little ways past my shoulders. I considered letting it grow out again but find that my short hair in battle is less of a target. Instead of cutting it, I twirl the wolf dagger in my hand, the tip of the blade gently pressing into one of my fingertips.

The sun is already lowering in the sky and I know I won't have much time to train as it is. I try to tell myself that I have trained enough, almost in preparation for this moment, but a part of me feels it will never be enough. Rewan taught me a majority of my skill. He knows the way I fight. And yes, I may know his, but he has far more experience than I.

A light knock on the door prompts me to finally raise the dagger to my hair. I tell the person to come in, not necessarily thrilled with having company. The door pushes open and I glance over my shoulder to see Sansa and Arya usher themselves in. I can't help but sigh.

"If you're here to pity me-"

"Here," Arya interrupts, taking the blade. "Let me do it. It's going to look awful if you do it like that. No one's going to take you seriously."

"She doesn't need to cut her hair," Sansa says while rolling her eyes. "All she needs are two braids down the back to keep it from her face."

She brushes Arya aside, who raises an eyebrow. Before I can argue, she quickly demonstrates by intertwining my hair down against my crown. It's amazing how quickly she does it. It takes her merely seconds and feels calming as her fingers brush lightly against my strands of hair.

When she's done, she steps back and admires her work. She gestures to the window where I have a clear view of my reflection. I smile at the hairstyle looking back at me, but the smile looks foreign on my face.

"Thank you," I tell her. "I'll wear it with pride."

"You better," Sansa says playfully.

She walks around so she's standing on the opposite side of me and Arya. The playfulness vanishes on her face the longer she takes in the sight of me. Her careful smile turns into a slight frown.

"Why are you doing this, Lysandra?"

I hesitate before gently taking her hand.

"Because it must be done, my lady."

A ghost of a smile forms on her lips.

"Cryptic as always," she replies. "But I still don't believe you should go through with this. Not after everything you've done with us, for our people."

"Robb was right when he mentioned your guilt," Arya adds, giving me a knowing look. "If you feed into it, you won't be coming back to Winterfell tomorrow."

It looks like Sansa is going to scold Arya for this comment, but instead she says:

"You know she's right."

I sigh. "You make it seem like I'm doing this to fail."

"Are you?" Arya asks.

"Of course not," I say. "But regardless, whatever happens I'm glad you won't be there to see it happen."

"We're going to be there," Sansa says firmly. "We won't let you do this alone."

"Sansa," I reason.

"She's right," Arya says, glancing at her sister. "We'll be there."

Another knock on the door causes our attention to move elsewhere. The door creaks open before I can respond and a flustered Robb comes through the door. He stops short when he sees Sansa and Arya in the room. He gathers himself.

"I need to speak to Lysandra," he says quietly. "Alone, please."

Sansa and Arya look at me before nodding. Arya rests a hand on my arm as she passes, promising we'll train together later. The two give me one last lingering look before disappearing behind the door, Robb shutting it behind them. His eyes find mine and for a moment we just stare at each other. I stand from the vanity and walk a few paces closer to him. The crackling of the fire brings a slight comfort among the heavy silence.

"Are you here to berate me, wolf boy?" I say, half-teasing.

To my surprise, the very sound of my voice brings tears to his eyes. I can't help but reach for him.

"Robb?"

Then, within seconds, he has me up against the wall. I'm so caught off guard, I don't really have time to react. He holds me firmly by my shoulders, his eyes filled with so much pain and anger I can barely breath. My shaking hands rest on his arms, unsure where else to place them. He shoves me, just a bit.

"How could you do this to me?" he demands, his words harsh but his voice controlled.

"I'm not... I'm not doing anything to you, Robb. I'm... I'm doing this for me."

"Doing what, exactly?" Robb says. "Getting yourself killed? Listen, Lysandra, the guilt I've felt since the Red Wedding and even before that has hung over me like a readied blade. It never goes away, it's always there, _I know_. But you _can't_ keep punishing yourself. We need you here. _I_ need you, so please..." He squeezes my shoulders. " _Please_ don't do this."

He hastily wipes away the tears spilling from my eyes. He begins mumbling apologies, as if my reaction is entirely his fault.

"Don't cry," he says. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't imagine... I'm sorry."

His face is inches from mine now. I cover his hands with my own.

"I have to do this," I say, trying to overcome the wobble in my voice. "You have to let me do this."

In response, Robb stares at me for a moment before hastily pressing his lips against mine. The feeling sends a wave of emotion through me. I think back to the time he kissed me the night before I returned to the Twins. It was the first and last time he kissed me, but nowhere near the last time I thought about it since that night. That kiss was abrupt, quick. It was goodbye to something that could have been, but could not be. This... this is different. As Robb's hands tangle in my hair, I know that this is a promise. A promise that this will not be an end, but a beginning. It's a promise to each other.

Robb pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. His hands caress my face and mine lay firmly on his wrists. We breathe heavily, keeping our eyes closed as our spinning heads relax. He kisses me one more time, more gentle and sweet. He whispers my name and I whisper his. I don't think about the worry that circulates around me whenever I think of Robb in this way, all I can think of is the feel of his skin against mine.

"Don't do this to die," Robb whispers. "Win. Come back to me."

He presses his lips to my forehead, lingering a bit, before leaving me standing alone in my room.

***

Dawn is soon approaching and already a crowd has gathered outside of Winterfell. It was meant to just be me and Rewan along with some guards and Jon and Daenerys as witnesses to the combat, but far more have shown up to witness the event. All the faces I've befriended are here, as well as a gathering I do not recognize along with a few unfriendly witnesses.

I stand alone within the bottom of a tower with the bounds of the fight just outside. I clench and unclench my hands, attempting to think of nothing but my strategy. I try not to focus on how a part of me wishes for Rewan to end my life, to end all my burdens. To squander the guilt I feel to trade a life for a life.

Leander appears through the doorway on the far side. I attempt to smile at him, surprised he's come to visit, but falter when I see his troubled expression.

"You've come to see two assassins fight?" I tease. "It's quite the spectacle."

He doesn't smile. Instead, he approaches me and takes my hands in his. His greenish blue eyes hold hesitancy and sorrow.

"Can you not allow someone to fight in your stead?" he asks. The weakness in his voice surprises me.

"It is my fight," I tell him. "My burden to bear."

"And will you not allow me to carry that burden for you?" he presses. "Allow me to fight for you. You are far too important to risk. You have taught me techniques that will surely assist me, and I did not become a Knight of the Vale by being a poor fighter."

"I'm well aware of how strong a fighter you are," I say, squeezing his hands. "But I will not let anyone else go through what I must. I committed the crime. I will answer for it."

His face grows distant for a moment, as if he's remembering something from long ago. A haze momentarily covers his eyes before bringing him back to reality. I can feel a burden in him that I cannot fully understand.

"Yes," he says quietly. "It is who you are... a kind woman with a fierce heart. I will respect your choice, though I may not agree with it. It has been my honor to know you, my lady, if for only a short time. If this is where our journey ends, I fear I may regret it until the end of my days that we had not more time."

A door opens to reveal both of my brothers.

"I will pray to the gods for your victory," Leander says, his voice stronger and steady this time.

Leander bows a little to me before taking his leave, nodding to Jaime and Tyrion on his way out. I shake myself from my stupor and give my brothers a look as if to say 'I thought we agreed multiple times that we were _not_ going to say goodbye'. They ignore the look entirely.

"What was that about?" Tyrion asks as he approaches.

"He wanted to take my place in battle," I reply. "I don't understand it."

"That boy didn't leave your side after you collapsed," he says, glancing at the direction Leander disappeared. "I thought him and the Young Wolf were going to have to fight to keep watch over you. You've certainly made an impression."

"I can't see Leander picking a fight with anyone that wasn't an enemy."

"On the contrary, I think Robb is rather fond of the boy," Jaime says, smiling a little. "It's a little difficult not to be."

I smile sadly. "Yes, it is."

"How are you feeling?" he asks. "Ready?"

"Confused as to why you two are here when we already agreed-"

"You're our sister," Tyrion interjects matter-of-factly. "We're family, despite your constant need to distance yourself from the Lannister name. We're with you until the bitter end, Lysandra."

Jaime nods in agreement. As the two of them look at me, I feel the harsh sting of tears threatening to form. I fight them back.

"Look at us," I say. "The last few Lannisters standing. I know I've been cruel about our family in the past... but I'm proud to be here with you. My brothers. I have nothing but pride when I look upon you. And if this is the end, I am glad you're here with me."

I don't give them time to react before I embrace both of them individually. They hold me tighter than they normally would, each of us fighting back tears. When Jaime finally releases me, he holds me by my shoulders. He takes in the sight of me, from the sheath he had made for me to my braided hair and familiar eyes. He smiles.

"We are proud of _you_ , Little Shadow," he says.

"We always have been," Tyrion adds.

A horn blows outside.

"It is time," Tyrion says.

He stands on one side of me and Jaime stands on the other. They both look at me and I take a turn smiling one last small smile at each of them.

"Are you ready?" Jaime asks.

I square my soldiers and stare at the double doors ahead.

"It's just as father used to say," I reply. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

Without another word, the Lannister siblings make their way out the door side by side. We must look like a fortress to the outside world, and each of us can feel it. We are the last of the Lannisters. We will not be trifled with.

Tyrion and Jaime act as a barrier on each side of me as we walk to meet Rewan on the field. I make eye contact with Robb, Bran, Arya, Jon, and Sansa all standing together. I nod to them and each of them nod in turn. Leander is on the other side near Ser Jorah, Beric, The Hound, and others. Queen Daenerys is seated by Jon and Sansa as all wait for the battle to commence.

Tyrion and Jaime each cast me one last look before allowing me to walk the rest of the way on my own. The crowd is lined outside of the boundaries set for the trial by combat. I stand a decent distance from Rewan and he bows deeply to me. I bow to him as well.

"I, Rewan of the Faceless Men, fight for Mateo of Braavos to avenge the murder of his father Jallen."

Rewan grips one of his weapons, a long combat stick with a blade on one end of it. It twirls effortlessly in his hands before he readies his stance.

"I, Lysandra Lannister, fight to clear my name of further treachery. Should this trial end in my death, let justice be served. If I should survive, let my guilt be unburdened from my shoulders."

I ready Lionheart and fall back into stance.

"In the name of the Many-Faced God," we both say in unison.

"Valar Morghulis," Rewan says to me.

I aim my blade at him.

"Valar Dohaeris," I reply.

The fight begins.

**_Robb's POV_ **

**_The Outskirts of Winterfell_ **

"Valar Dohaeris," Lysandra replies to Rewan.

"Valar Dohaeris," Arya repeats to herself, bowing slightly to the two competitors.

I'm unable to speak as I watch the agile movements of Lysandra and Rewan. I've seen Lysandra fight before, but not quite like this. Perhaps most similarly to her training with Arya, but I've never seen a man move the way Rewan does. He blocks every blow from Lysandra's sword, spinning out of the way and counteracting with every turn. Rewan catches her off guard and kicks her roughly to the ground whilst hitting her cheek with the blunt end of his stick.

Lysandra spits out blood and pushes herself to her feet. Within seconds she is on the ground again, this time with a harsh, open-handed blow to her chest.

"Can we stop this?" I hear Jon ask.

"Would she allow us to?" Daenerys replies as if in finality.

Right when it seems that Lysandra is unable to get up, she does. She comes at Rewan like a striking snake, weaving under his blows and slicing one of his wrists with the wolf dagger I gave her long ago. It gives me pride to see her wielding it in such a manner, though the feeling does not last long as the fight becomes even more intense than before. Rewan lands a cut to Lysandra's neck, not deep enough for fatality but enough to soak her clothing in blood. The action causes Arya's knuckles to whiten as she clenches her sword. Lysandra lands a blow to Rewan's ankle, causing him to fall for the first time. He uses his weapon to knock her feet out from under her and is on his feet within the next second.

A few people shout now and then in Lysandra's favor. Some call out instruction to her, even Arya once or twice, but it seems to fall on deaf ears. The two fighters are only focused on each other. Other than a few outbursts, the crowd remains quiet as they fixate on which moves are about to be shown next. It is clear this fight is nearly evenly matched, which I know never ends well. I fight every fiber in my being to not run to Lysandra's side in the next instant.

Lysandra uses her body weight to leap to her feet, brandishing her sword in a calm, yet menacing manner. The two of them are only just now breathing heavily. Rewan nicks Lysandra's side, causing more blood to gush into Lysandra's clean fabric and fall onto the snow. She maintains her distance while, with shaking hands, she rips off some of her fabric and ties it tightly around the wound with a grimace.

"She won't lose," Sansa says, glancing at us. "Right? She can't lose."

"If she does," I growl. "He doesn't leave here alive. No matter what agreement."

Jaime catches my eye and nods, his jaw clenched.

"It is up to her," Bran says, mostly to himself.

Just then, Rewan catches Lysandra upside the face, sending her sprawling to the ground in a sharp groan of pain. I take a step forward, not having anywhere to go. Jon's hand is on my shoulder in an instant. I'm not sure if it's for comfort or to hold me back, but I can't focus on anything but her.

She's not getting up.

He stalks towards her, saying something under his breath that I can't understand.

She struggles, but still does not rise.

He raises his blade to strike.

**_Lysandra's POV_ **

I can hear the blood rushing in my ears as I crawl away from Rewan. I feel so weak, so helpless. Blood drips from my body into the snow as I continue to drag myself away from my foe.

"You showed such promise, Shadow," Rewan says. "Had you stayed at the House, you may have surpassed myself and countless others. The Many-Faced God chose well, saving you from death before you were given life."

My father's reveal of my mother's pregnancy rings heinously in my mind as I struggle.

"The death of your friend was necessary," Rewan continues calmly. "He was the last step for you to become No One. You made the Many-Faced God proud, but your service has come to an end, I'm afraid."

I remember slitting Jallen's throat, ending his life with that last stab. I had so many opportunities to spare him. I could have easily walked away... why didn't I just walk away?

"I do not wish for your death," he says. "I am sorry this is your end. Know that you fought well. You have made your loved ones proud."

I carefully reach my hand towards my torso, gripping the handle of the wolf dagger.

"Goodbye, Shadow."

I hear the whizzing of the blade through the air. I waste no time in turning over, releasing the dagger with every bit of strength I have left. It sails through the air and directly at Rewan's chest. It hits its target with a sickening sound. Rewan's face turns blank as he stares from the blade to me. He drops his weapon. I don't hesitate in pushing myself to my feet. I wrestle him to the ground and grab the blade from his chest. I hold it against his throat. He sputters a bit, looking up at me. A slow, eerie smile spreads across his face.

"He chose well," he says.

And with painfully familiar precision, I run my blade swiftly across his throat. The blood spills all across my arm as his eyes slowly fade to darkness. I sit there for a moment, sheathing my bloodied blade. I gently pass my hand over his eyes, closing them with one movement. I set him down against the red snow.

"Valar Dohaeris, Rewan," I whisper.

A hush has fallen over the crowd in a stunned silence. And as my friends and allies slowly raise to a deafening applause in the early morning, I can't shake Rewan's last moments. He was swift and unrelenting. He had to have known I planned on using my dagger in that last moment... he didn't even seemed shocked when it hit him. That smile he gave me... so genuine and strange. It was like he knew it would end this way.

I suppose I'll never know if he lost on purpose.

I rise to my feet, covered in blood and aching but still able to function substantially. I don't see what happens to Rewan's body as I'm led straight to the healing area of Winterfell. I'm accompanied by the Stark children as well as my brothers. They talk to me, expressing their relief and how they're not shocked, but I can't bring myself to say but a few words.

After I'm bandaged, I'm left alone with Robb for a short while. He takes me in his arms and we stay like that for a long time, his head resting against mine.

"Your brothers have taken to celebrating your victory," Robb murmurs against my hair.

I hum in amusement. "I'm not surprised."

"You should join them," he says. "It might make you feel better."

"This makes me feel better."

I feel him smile against me.

"I know that couldn't have been easy for you," he says. "And I know you don't want to talk about it, but know that we're all here for you."

"I know. Thank you."

A comfortable silence passes over us.

"You do realize if you don't humor them, they'll just come find you anyway."

I laugh. "I suppose you're right."

Another silence.

"Robb?"

"Hm?"

"Forgive yourself," I say gently, stroking his arm with my thumb. "You're a good man. You always have been."

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he just kisses my temple gingerly.

***

I receive many congratulations on my way to Jaime and Tyrion. I nearly melt into Jorah's hesitant touch when he embraces me. There hasn't been any sign of Leander since the fight, and I plan to find him once I'm sure my brothers haven't gotten into any mischief.

I find them in an isolated spot located a little ways from the Great Hall. They're already a few drinks in when they raise their glasses at the sight of me.

"The woman of the hour!" Jaime says, grinning from ear to ear. "Don't worry, the wine isn't poisoned."

"We checked," Tyrion says with a slight hiccup.

I roll my eyes. "You two are insufferable."

"Sit!" Tyrion says. Jaime pulls out a chair.

I'm about to join them when they take notice of someone behind me.

"Leander!" Tyrion exclaims. "Come join us. Have a drink."

"How old are you, anyway?" Jaime says through furrowed eyebrows. "You look a bit young for a knight of the Vale."

"Seventeen years of age, Ser Jaime."

"Don't mind them, Leander," I say, casting an annoyed glance at my brothers before turning to the knight. "They're harmless. And also a bit drunk."

He smiles, but it's tentative. His hands clench and unclench a few times before he relaxes them. He takes a breath.

"I was hoping I could speak with you privately," he says.

"Don't mind us, lad," Tyrion says through a mouthful of food. "We're far too busy over here to eavesdrop."

Jaime chuckles, sharing a mischievous glance with his brother.

I look at Leander apologetically.

"I don't think it wise to leave them," I say. "Especially given they're not exactly welcome in this city."

"Lysandra doesn't drink anymore," Jaime says teasingly. "She no longer believes in having fun."

I close my eyes, collecting my patience before opening them again.

"I was actually hoping to speak to you as well, but can it wait till tomorrow?" I ask him as kindly as I can manage.

Leander's face is noticeably pale and I can't pinpoint where his hesitancy is coming from. Perhaps he doesn't trust my brothers. It doesn't make sense though, considering how kind he's been treating them. He shifts uneasily.

"I'm afraid not, Lysandra," he says, keeping his voice level.

"Oh, relax, sister," Tyrion says through a belch. "Just go with the boy, we'll be perfectly fine."

I roll my eyes, turning to him.

"I'm not leaving either of you unsupervised. I trust you far less when you're intoxicated."

Tyrion and Jaime both laugh at this, and I can't hold back my smile any longer. I look to Leander again.

"I'm sorry, Leander, but I can't-"

"I'm your son."

I freeze, unsure of the words that just left his lips. I shake my head, not quite understanding.

"I was born a bastard of Dorne," Leander continues, mustering his courage. "I came to the Vale after the ones who cared for me passed. It's a long story, but it is the truth."

My brothers have fallen silent, even in their drunken stupor. All I can do is stand there staring at Leander of the Vale, taking in his dirty blonde hair and the familiar color of his eyes. He holds his ground, speaking again as if in assurance.

"I am your son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lysandra and Robb kissed, but what does this mean for them? How will Leander's claim affect Lysandra? Do you think he's telling the truth? The battle against the Night King is closer than ever... will our heroes and anti-heroes alike be ready for him and his army?
> 
> Writer's Fact: During the scene where Lysandra says a possible farewell to her brothers before the trial, I always imagine A Lannister Always Pays His Debts by Ramin Djawadi playing in the background.


	24. A Knight of the Vale

Leander Stone sits across from me at the table closest to my brothers. I haven't spoken since he started to explain. Explain... if you can even call it that. I feel as though I'm meeting an entirely new person; not the one I've been getting to know ever since my return to Winterfell. Jaime and Tyrion are being uncharacteristically quiet in the corner, their eyes canvasing our every move. I couldn't even bring myself to tell them to leave through the shock of Leander's confession.

All I can do is stare at him as he speaks.

"I was raised in Dorne," he explains, his tone gentle. "By a woman I came to know as a mother, Ellya. It was just her and I in the city, aside from a few relatives she had, but I only met them a few times. She... passed. It was sudden and I was young. I knew she wasn't my birth mother, but it didn't matter to me because she was all I had. I didn't learn about you until I came to the Vale. I had always heard the stories of the Knights of the Vale and hoped maybe I could make something of myself, even though I carried the weight of being a bastard."

He rubs his palms together lightly, a nervous tick that shadows another I know well. He meets my eyes.

"Ellya... she named me Lysander. Lysander Sand. I now know it was in honor you."

My nails dig into my knees as I try to absorb everything he says. Ellya... sweet Ellya. She did what I asked. She kept the baby safe and raised him as her own... and now she's gone.

"Lysander," I say quietly, unable to stop myself.

He nods. "Yes. My name was changed when I became a knight. It was the idea of Lord Baelish... Littlefinger as you seemed to know him best by."

"Littlefinger?" I practically spit.

I notice Jaime and Tyrion lean forward at the mention of the name.

"He knew I was your son," Leander says, his expression guarded. "I don't know how. He didn't tell me much. But once he found out who I was, he did everything he could to make sure I became a Knight of the Vale. He took an interest in me; started feeding me information about you and the pregnancy. That you frolicked around with Nobles and scum alike, that I was a disgusting accident that resulted from whoring around the-"

Jaime stands, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. I feel my entire body shaking from the story.

"That's a lie," Jaime snarls.

Leander raises his hands to the three of us. I touch Jaime's arm, keeping my focus on Leander. He seems to relax a bit at my touch.

"His words," he assures us. "Not mine. He fed me many lies for years. And I won't lie to you, Lysandra, I believed them. I grew to hate you for it. I was hurting and gullible. I wanted nothing to do with you... and then I saw you for the first time in Winterfell when you brought Robb Stark. I didn't know it was you then, but I feel that I did... in a way. It was like looking at a memory. One I didn't know I had. And Littlefinger knew it was important to poison me then more than ever. He told me you were a spy, no friend of Winterfell or our allies. That I would need to end your life before you ended many others."

"He wanted you to kill me." My voice is deadly quiet.

"Yes." He sighs, as if the very memory of it hurts. "And for a dark moment, I considered it. But then, as you were awaiting trial, I saw the way you were behaving around people. The Starks, the people of Winterfell in general. You were the complete opposite of everything I had been taught. I thought I may have just been being deceived by a spy, but then the trial came. The way you handled it, the decision you made, I knew in that moment I had been led astray.

You left and I didn't even get a chance to speak to you... but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. Lord Baelish continued to tell his lies, and it was only when I threatened his life that he told me the truth about my birth. I distanced myself from him, but that's when I noticed his scheming turning more so to Lady Sansa and her sister. I told Lord Robb, not necessarily what was transpiring but that Lord Baelish had ill intentions towards his sisters. I wish I had said more. I truly do, but Lord Baelish saw his rightful end."

I shake my head, still dumbfounded.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I ask.

"I wish I had a better reason, but I could never find the strength," he replies. "I thought perhaps it would be easier on both of us if I kept my lineage a secret. But I still wanted to know you. I know it was selfish, but I realize it was because I was afraid. I almost told you before your trial, but I couldn't risk swaying your focus."

I want to shrink away from his words, to accuse him of lying. But I can sense the truth in his words... in his eyes. The same eyes I share with my siblings.

"Why were you afraid to tell me, Leander?"

He swallows, keeping his hands clasped on the table. His eyes remain on his hands.

"The same reason any bastard is afraid," he says. "The fear of being... unwanted."

I instinctively take his hands, tears stinging my eyes. He looks up at me with a hint of surprise.

"I have _always_ wanted you," I say, fighting back the wobble in my voice. "I truly believed I was protecting you. I'm not sorry I did it. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I am sorry you felt alone and unwanted. I had hoped better for you."

"I wasn't always alone," he says with a small smile. "Ellya cared for me as long as she was able. And when I was, it made me stronger. My journey has made me a better man. I have you to thank for that." He pauses. "I am no longer angry or bitter. I only want to be with you, for as long as we have left. The battle ahead is not promising, and it will not be kind."

We stare at each other for a moment, still holding each other's hands. A silent understanding passes over us as I think of all the years of separation. He's here. My son is here. And he's as beautiful and strong as I always wished for him to be. I completely forget about my brothers until Tyrion loudly clears his throat, the effect of the alcohol slowly washing away. He rises from his seat.

"Let me see if I have this right," he says, raising his hands at us. Then he points to me. "You had a child... seventeen years ago, and you didn't think to tell either of us?" He motions between him and a still stunned Jaime.

It takes everything in me to shift my focus from Leander. They don't look angry, per se, just shocked and confused.

"I wanted to tell you," I say. "But it was after the assault and I knew that father-"

"So Casterly Rock," Jaime says. "That was why you insisted on being sent away."

"Among other things, but yes. I couldn't risk anyone finding out."

"Father and Cersei," Tyrion says knowingly.

"Especially them," I say. "They would have used him." I look to Leander. "I couldn't risk that."

Tyrion gestures to Leander, amusement now in his eyes.

"I can't believe you kept us from our nephew!"

"Well, it's not like I _knew_ where he was," I say. "If I did, perhaps things would have ended up differently."

Jaime puts a hand on Tyrion's shoulder.

"Perhaps we should give them a moment, brother." When Tyrion doesn't budge, Jaime adds, "There will be plenty of time to scold her later."

The two exit, casting one last look between the two of us before doing so. Leander's slight smile is still on his face as he watches them go. I pat his hand.

"Is your family bigger than you expected?" I ask, motioning to where Tyrion and Jaime disappeared to.

"Family," Leander repeats softly. Then he looks at me. "Much."

A tear slips down my cheek at the sight of his happiness.

"My boy," I say.

I get up from my seat and make my way around the table. Leander follows suit and the two of us tightly embrace, quiet tears spilling onto each other's shoulders.

***

The following few days, Leander and I barely leave each other's sides. We train together, attend meetings about the battle, and strategize with others about weaponry and attack formations. Jaime and Tyrion aren't upset for long, especially when it begins to sink in that they have a nephew to get to know. I think it's something they didn't know they wanted... or needed. Having already bonded with the boy beforehand, it doesn't take them long to make him feel like he belongs.

The whispers of Leander's relation to me spreads throughout Winterfell, though I'm not exactly sure why or how. Robb hears it from me first, and instantly embraces me when I tell him the news.

"Leander?" he asks in bewilderment. "I can't believe it. And to think that scum Littlefinger knew all this time."

I wave it off. "It doesn't matter now. My son is alive, and he's here in Winterfell."

He grasps my hands, a look of pure warmth in his eyes.

"And I'm so grateful for it," he says. "Perhaps you can make up for time lost."

"Assuming we live through this," I say with a half-smile.

He squeezes my hands.

"Then we don't waste whatever time is given to us."

And then he does something I don't expect. He brushes the hair from my face and his thumb lingers on my cheek. He gazes into my eyes, his own glinting in the firelight.

Quietly, he says, "If I could marry you now, I would. I'd tie myself to you in every way, but I know it's more complex than we both would like. If we win this battle, maybe things will be different."

He presses a gentle kiss to my lips and smiles. I don't know how long we stand like that before we're interrupted by Ser Jorah. Robb steps away from me and regards Ser Jorah as he addresses both of us.

"My lord, my lady," he says. "It's time for the final preparations. You're both needed in the map room."

Robb is the first to follow him and it takes me a moment to gather myself before I do as well. Everyone is gathered around the map regarding the finalized battle plans and I stand between Brienne and Robb. The final meeting commences and each leader takes their turn going over our plan of attack.

We discuss the line of defense, as there will be three before the dead can even arrive at Winterfell. The first, a barricade made from sharpened planks followed by the Dothraki. Then, a trench with retractable planks in order to sound a retreat, right in the view of archers on the wall. Finally, chevron barricades directly in front of the city, with another trench in front of it to be lit when given the signal. We cannot create an effective charge with the undead, so instead it will be as much defense as possible in order to bide time until the Night King can be reached.

Robb and Leander will be right outside the castle walls; along with the Stark bannermen, free folk, and Knights of the Vale. Ghost and Grey Wind will accompany Robb. They will also be joined by Jaime, and Brienne and Tormund will lead the flank. The Unsullied will be beside them, and the next will be the rest of the bannermen along with the Brotherhood Without Banners. Ser Jorah will lead the Dothraki, and the others who are unable to fight will be held elsewhere. Daenerys implores Tyrion to be kept safe and out of harm's way.

"We can't keep the women and children in the crypt," Robb says. "It'll have to be the Great Hall." He looks to Jon. "If the Night King can raise the dead as you've said, who's to say he won't use that advantage in battle? Those in the crypt will be trapped defenseless."

Jon runs a hand through his hair as the others mumble at this revelation.

"The Great Hall is not as stable as the crypt," he says. "The dead could easily find a way in."

"Robb is right, Jon," I say. "As long as the dead reside in the crypt, those in there during the battle will not be safe."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"We have two options," I say. "Build as much defense in the hall as we can, or..."

Jon narrows his eyes, waiting for an answer. "Or?"

Robb sighs. "Or we burn the bodies in the crypt."

"We can't do that," Sansa says, almost like a plea. "Our family..."

"Will mean nothing if the dead destroy us," Arya says sullenly. "Sacrifices must be made."

Jon is silent for a moment. A heavy weight holds in the air. Finally, he nods.

"We'll do it tonight," he says. "The safety of the people must come first."

I can see that Daenerys wants to reach for him but she doesn't.

"There is one more precaution we have to consider," I say.

"What is it?" Jon asks.

"Ghost and Grey Wind," I reply, nodding to Robb. "They're powerful, yes, but they're not equipped with dragonglass, fire, or Valyrian steel."

Tyrion raises his hand. "I believe I can assist with that, sister. I've shown some plans to Gendry, and I believe we can equip the direwolves with dragonglass."

I raise an eyebrow.

"How?" Robb asks.

"A simple encasing around their fangs and claws," Tyrion says, waving it off as if it doesn't sound bizarre. "The contraption will be light and quite easy to put on. Though, I don't trust they'll allow anyone to put it on but their masters."

I grin. "You are certainly full of surprises, brother."

"I do my best."

"I'm sure they'll love that," Robb says with a grin, flashing Jon an amused look. "Alright. I'll see that it's done."

Jon nods in approval. The discussion continues, now focused mainly on the Night King and drawing him out. It's no surprise when Bran volunteers to be bait. He doesn't bend when the others attempt to argue.

"He wants to erase the memory of this world," Bran says. "The memory of men. He will come for me."

"And how will he find you?" Tyrion asks.

Bran pulls up his sleeve to reveal the Night King's mark.

"His mark is on me," he says. "He'll be able to sense my location... he will see."

Then his eyes fall to mine. As if on cue, I can feel mark on my shoulder burn. A few more eyes land on me, lingering on the mark peeking out from under my armor.

"I will wait for him in the Godswood," Bran says.

"We're not going to leave you alone out there," Arya says.

"He won't be," Theon says. "I'll stay with him. With the Ironborn."

Robb tenses beside me but doesn't say anything, his eyes hard on Theon.

"I took this castle from you," he continues. "Let me defend you now."

Slowly, as the Stark children seem to consider this and nod their approval, Theon's eyes fall on Robb.

"I know I can never make this right," he says. "But allow me to try. Allow me to repent, by fighting for your family."

Robb's jaw clenches. He glances at Bran, who is looking at him stoically. Finally, he looks back to Theon and nods once before turning his attention to the map.

"What about you?" Samwell Tarly says, and it takes a moment for me to realize he's addressing me.

I hesitate, not quite sure what he means. Instead, Jon answers.

"Lysandra will be positioned with the archers, leading assault on the right flank," he says, with a slight smile on his face. "We'll need her eyes."

"And her aim," Tormund says with a grin. Beric and Jorah nod in approval.

"That's not what he means," Bran says calmly. Samwell gestures to my shoulder.

I carefully pull down the fabric to reveal the remainder of the Night King's mark. It's the first time a few of them have seen it, so there's a look of surprise that wanders the room.

"I'd imagine that mark wasn't a mere accident," Sam says. "It's made you a target."

"What does this mean?" Daenerys asks, looking between me and Bran.

"I am this world's memory," Bran says. He pauses, still looking at me. "Lysandra is its defender. Your Sight... it makes you its possible future."

"So the Night King will come for her as well," Robb says, gripping the table a bit harder.

I pull the fabric up. My fears have been confirmed.

"He doesn't just want an eternal night," I say. "He wants to wipe out anyone who will stand against him. He wants any power outside of his... diminished. Bran and I are a threat to his cause. He will not allow either of us to stand, though his priority will be focused on Bran."

"Then I will protect you both," Theon says, turning to me.

"No," I say. "If the Night King does come for me, I can't be anywhere near Bran. We will need to be separated for as long as possible. We must make it as difficult for him as we can."

There's a pause as everyone thinks it over.

"Then you will keep close to me when the battle falls within the walls," Jaime says. "I won't have my sister unprotected against an ice devil."

"I'll be with her on the wall," Arya says, giving me a nod. "We'll watch out for each other."

"Then we'll be by your side when we are able," Brienne offers. "You won't be left alone and a target."

I look between the many eyes on me.

"If I argue, will it make a difference?"

"No," they say in unison.

I catch Leander's eye and he smiles. I smile in turn and nod.

"Very well," I say.

"Does your Sight have any advice for us?" Tyrion says, with a hint of playfulness. "You know, to avoid certain death."

That's when I hear father's song playing dully in my ears as I take in the sight of each member in the room. The sound makes my blood run cold, as I know many will fall in battle. I take a breath and force it away.

"We cannot charge and survive," I say. "The army is too strong. Our best chance is to utilize the barricades and kill as many as we can in between. The more we do that, the more difficult it is for them to breach our walls. Other than that, I'm afraid I've been blinded. The future can only be altered so much."

What I don't tell them, is that I believe much will be revealed. Though, not until after the battle ends. Not all will fall, but damage with remain everywhere.

We are in the final stage, as we all well know. The Night King and his army will be here far before the sun comes up tomorrow.

"Let's get some rest," Jon says. "We'll need all the strength we can get."

***

That night, I make my rounds. I speak to every ally and friend I can find, hoping to get a last word with them before the start of the battle. Some I can't find, like Arya, and I assume they're spending their what could be 'last moments' with others. It is more difficult that I can imagine, saying goodbye. I never imagined I would have so many people I didn't want to lose.

I manage to speak to all but a few before I find Ser Jorah. I see him walking to prepare his flank, brandished with a new sword I haven't seen before. It's in passing that I see him, when I'm on my way to find Jaime and Tyrion. And hopefully Robb before I remain with them. I call out Jorah's name and he stops, a warm look in his eye at the sight of me.

"I'm sorry," I say, catching up to him. "I just wanted to see you before...well."

"Thank you, Lady Lysandra," he replies. "I had wished to see you as well. Hopefully this will not be the last time we speak."

"Don't worry," I say. "I can always come to your rescue again."

This makes him smile. Before I can stop myself, I wrap my arms around him tightly. After a moment, he returns the embrace. An overwhelming feeling of sorrow enters my heart the longer I hold him, and I see a flash of Jorah's demise. Shutting my eyes tightly, attempting to wash the image away, I whisper in his ear.

"Do not go past the barricade."

I press a lingering kiss to his cheek, then take his face in my hands when I step back. Slight confusion and longing rests on his face.

"You're a good man, Jorah," I say. "I've been lucky to know you."

I press a chaste kiss to his lips before taking my leave.

Next, I find Jon pacing quietly as he watches his men ready the artillery. He doesn't see me approach, obviously entranced in his own thoughts.

"Brooding again?" I tease.

He looks up, a bit startled before smiling, but it doesn't quite touch his eyes.

"Lurking in the shadows again?" he replies.

I chuckle. "Okay, that's fair. What's troubling you?"

He falters a bit before giving me a look.

"You already know, don't you?"

"Possibly."

He sighs. "I love her. I do. But it's different now."

"I know," I say with a nod. "But perhaps it doesn't have to be. Not always, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"You're pushing her away, Jon. I'm not saying things have to be as they were before, but she has to know that you're still there for her. And no, simply saying it will not do. Shutting her out will only make things worse..." A flash of fire and screams echo in my mind. "For both of you. And you may not see it, but our queen is beginning to unravel. Not securing the love of the people here has taken a toll on her."

"They just need time to see her for who she is," Jon says, looking out at the men.

"And they will," I say. "One way or the other. We just have to make sure it's the _right_ side they see."

"And what about you, Lysandra?"

"What about me?"

He gives me a knowing look. "My brother loves you. And I may not have your Sight, but I believe you love him." When I don't say anything, he continues. "Have you told him?"

"It won't mean anything in the end," I say.

"It'll mean something to him." Jon's words sound like a promise. "My brother has changed like I have. From the resurrection, yes. But I see something else in him. Something I see when you're around. A part of him has changed for the better, and I think that's because of you."

A moment of silence passes between us as I mull over his words.

"When I trained with the Faceless Men, I found out I died in the womb and the Many-Faced God saved me for some future purpose. They said I'll never feel like I belong because I don't really have a home anywhere. I think whatever journey this is... once it's complete I think that's it for me. This war we have to face; it's my only purpose."

Jon's eyebrows furrow as he watches the snow fall. Finally, he nods.

"That sounds like bullshit," he says.

There's a pause, and when I turn to him he's smiling a little. I can't help but smile too.

"I hope you're right."

"You'll find yourself a home," Jon says. "It's not always easy, and sometimes when you find your home it doesn't want you. But you'll find your way back to it. Besides, you seem too stubborn to just leave it up to a god."

I laugh a little. Then my smile falters as I think of Rewan, Jallen, and Mateo. I must stay that way for a moment, the emotion clear on my face, because Jon takes my hand.

"Forgive yourself," he says. "Or it'll eat you alive. Trust me, I know."

I shake my head. "You don't know the whole story."

"I know _you_." He squeezes my hand. "I've fought with ya on the battlefield. I've seen the way you care about others. There's no denying who you are now. Today. Your path led you to Robb. To us. To your son."

He looks at me a moment longer, squeezing my hand again before letting go.

"Forgive yourself," he says again.

Then he walks off and shouts orders to a nearby group.

***

I find my brothers in one of the far off rooms with a large fireplace to keep them warm. However, I don't find them alone. Instead, they're accompanied by Brienne, Podrick, Tormund, Ser Davos, Leander, and Robb. The group is in the middle of speaking, sharing stories of battles won long ago. A few heads perk up at the sight of me. Ser Davos, who has never been a fan of mine, gives me a half-hearted nod.

" _Where_ have you been?" Tyrion muses. "Join us, join us. We've already begun drinking without you."

I give Leander a look and he raises his hands innocently.

"I haven't had even a sip," he says.

"You're rubbing off on him already," Tyrion grumbles.

"I will drink when the battle is over," I say, giving his shoulder a shove. "Not a second more. I need my mind clear."

" _Thank_ you," Brienne says, gesturing towards me. "At least someone appreciates proper battle strategy."

I sit right across from Robb, between Jaime and Leander. I feel the heaviness in the air, not of negativity but of pride and gratitude. I see the way Brienne carries herself differently... and then a flash of the moment that happened before I arrived here plays in my mind. I smile and nod to Brienne.

"Congratulations, _Ser_ Brienne."

Her eyebrows furrow. "How did you-"

"It's better if you don't ask," Robb says to her. He gives me a wink and I narrow my eyes playfully.

Jaime nudges me with his arm.

"We were just discussing past battles," he says.

"Ah," I say. "A lot of honorable fighters in this room."

"Is there anyone you _haven't_ fought at this point?" Podrick teases.

"Sparring is far different from being in battle," I say. "And I've only been in one of those."

"Right," Tormund snorts. "One battle with countless wights-"

"And a bear?" Tyrion adds. "I heard there was a bear."

"And a big fucking bear," Tormund says with a big nod. "This little woman terrifies me. And she has my _respect_."

"Hear, hear." Podrick raises a glass to me and the others do the same.

We all sit there in silence for a while with only the crackling of the fire to accompany us. A solemnness fills the room as we take everything in. It won't be long until we're called to our positions, and nothing will be the same after. We will either fall, or live to see the turbulent aftermath. This may be the last moment we will all be together. The last moment we will look upon each other as living, breathing people. Everything changes after this night.

"How about a song?" Tyrion finally asks.

Robb's eyes immediately settle on mine, but an understanding passes between us. That night on the water when I sang to him, that is a moment we will always share. Just him and I. It is a memory that I will cherish forever. And I believe he feels the same way.

After going around the circle for someone to sing, Pod surprises us all by singing a song I haven't heard before. His voice is hauntingly beautiful, and something in it allows me to see the others through my Sight. I see Sansa and Theon sharing dinner, I see Jorah on horseback as he waits for battle, The Hound and Beric sitting in silence, among others. And again, I'm haunted by the image of many fallen soldiers, both that I recognize and don't recognize. And this time... I see my own body lying in the Godswood.

I quickly wipe a tear away that forms during the song. Leander gently takes my hand and squeezes it. We share a look and I can't help but think how grateful I am to have found him. Or rather, for him to have found me. But at the same time I feel the fear of losing him. Is life cruel for bringing us together, only for us to be ripped apart in battle? It's hard to say, but I'm lucky to have known him even for as little as I have. Hope is not lost. We may make it out of this yet.

Finally, the time comes for us to make our way to our positions. I hug Tyrion one more time before he takes his path to the now emptied crypt.

"I better see your face when I come out of there," he says in my ear.

"I'll try my best, little brother. Stay safe."

I kiss his cheek and leave before I lose my strength entirely.

I walk with the others until I reach the steps to my position with the archers. Jaime starts to give me some words of warning but I hug him tightly.

"Don't be an idiot," I say.

He hugs me tighter, and when he releases me, he's smiling. He grips my shoulders and his expression turns serious.

"If you need me, Little Shadow-"

"You'll be right here if you can?" I offer, tears forming in my eyes as I smile at him.

He looks as if he's about to say something else, but just as his eyes glisten he grasps my neck and brings his lips to my forehead for a moment.

"I'll see you soon," he says.

I nod and he joins Brienne and Tormund in the distance. Robb is the only one left of the group and I can't will myself to walk away first. We stare at each other for a moment and I give him a playful shrug.

"This is it, wolf boy," I say.

"I don't feel right being separated from you," he says.

"Don't get too comfortable," I tease. " I might see you on the battlefield yet. We do fight well together."

He pauses. "You think we'll make it through this?"

"Do you?"

He shrugs. "I think I like our odds."

I take his hands.

"I'd bet on us any day," I say.

He takes a step closer to me.

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?" he asks with a smirk.

I touch his face. "Perhaps I'm just trying to distract you."

Robb grins. It fades quickly when a horn blows to signal final positions. He looks to the others and then turns to me, worry in his eyes.

"Lysandra..."

I press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"I know."

Grey Wind and Ghost sidle up to us, armored and ready for battle. I lean down to scratch behind their ears. I nuzzle Grey Wind's face with mine.

"Take care of our boy," I whisper to him. He huffs in response.

I look up at Robb and he raises his eyebrows.

"I told you, you're his favorite," he says.

"Robb," Leander calls to him. He motions for him to join him. "It's time."

He locks eyes with me and Robb looks to me as well.

"Be careful," I say. "Both of you."

They nod and we reluctantly part ways.

***

Up on the wall, it's unsettling how dark everything is. The torches above and below do their best to light up the waiting army, but the rest is just... unsettling. I can sense the Night King waiting in the darkness far off, waiting for the proper opportunity to strike. Shouts of orders echo from below as everyone comes into formation.

Suddenly, Arya is standing next to me with a large narrow weapon in hand. Before I can ask, she hands it to me. It's surprisingly lightweight and stout, with long, yet thick sharp blades on each end that glisten in the torchlight. It's entirely made of dragonglass.

"A gift from Gendry for you," Arya says. "Said you needed a weapon accustomed to your skill."

"What about you?"

She smiles. "I have my weapon, don't you worry."

She shows me her impressive dragonglass blade. I nod in approval.

I sense the Red Witch is here before she arrives, Melisandre, and she lights the Dothraki's blades as they wait behind the first barricade of defense. The longer we wait, the more the silence is deafening. The moon is not visible, no light from the sky whatsoever. A tortured screech sounds in the far distance... then another.

"Don't let them pin you down," I tell Arya. "They're far stronger than you'd expect. We have to hold them off from climbing this wall as long as we can."

"Are you frightened?" She asks, her voice unwavering.

"I do not fear death."

"Nor do I."

"I fear... losing those I love."

I look to Arya and she looks to me in turn. She nods in agreement, but quickly composes herself.

"I want to thank you, Arya."

She looks to me again with furrowed eyebrows.

"You've shown me kindness," I say. "You helped me when you didn't need to. You've become... a friend. At least, on my end. I'll always be grateful for that."

"Are you going soft on me?"

"Never."

"Good," she says, looking back at the battlefield. "Try not to get yourself killed."

"Don't worry. I've got your back, remember?"

A subtle smile comes across Arya's lips.

A vicious chill breaks through the air and more screeches are heard. It's silent again, too silent, because a harsh splinter shakes the air as the dead begin to slam themselves against the first barricade. Arya and I have our bows by our sides, ready to aim when the action is needed. The bow Jon had made for me glistens menacingly as I adjust my hold. The winter winds grow harsher, blowing against our lit fires.

Then the Dothraki's flaming swords begin swinging as they attack the dead that slip through the cracks. Shouts of war emanate on both sides, one more terrifying than the other. Flames are extinguished rapidly, but they fight on. I hold hope in my heart that Ser Jorah will make it through the first wave, but hope is such a fragile thing.

The battle has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finally here... the long night. 
> 
> This story is not the one you remember.


	25. The Longest Night

As the wights breach the first barricade, it's difficult to see our foe in the darkness to take aim from above. The Dothraki are forced to ride on either side as the enemy overpowers them down the center. The retreat allows the wights to make a break for the first trench, the one where Brienne and Tormund's flanks are at the ready. They're able to cut them down with the help of the trench, but soon the dead are crawling on top of each other, like flaying insects, in order to reach their prey. They bite, they stab, they claw, they strangle. They use any method of violence to kill the living. The swarm itself reminds me of the Lands of Always Winter. I had never seen anything so terrifying... until now.

"Draw!" I yell to the archers.

The arrows are dipped in oil and lit aflame. The archers, including myself and Arya, nock their arrows.

"Aim high!" I tell them. "Don't let them break the formation!"

We move our aim against the blistering wind.

"Fire!"

A shower of flaming arrows rain down on the enemy, right in front of our troops. The fall allows us to gain the upper hand, but it only lasts for a few moments. Stark and Vale armor alike clash among the dead and it's difficult to decipher which of our people has already fallen. I order more arrows to be readied, and they're released in the same manner as before. The right flank is forced to fall back and they retract the planks as they go.

The Unsullied come to assist and it's astounding to see them in action. I've heard the stories of their military tactics, but this is something else entirely. Even in the face of this uncertain foe, they cut down wight after wight with a terrifying ease. They are strong and ferocious with every swing of their swords. It is not their strength that hinders them, but their numbers. The dead come in unnatural waves through the darkness.

The archers light up the dead with more arrows, giving the Unsullied army the upper hand, but it still doesn't slow the retreat that Grey Worm is forced to sound. We immediately get more arrows ready and fire as quickly as possible with dead-on precision as our allies retreat. They're past the last trench now and it's time for the signal to be given to the sky to light the trench. But before Ser Davos even makes his attempt, I know it's in vain. The clouds are too thick, the wind is too harsh.

"Light the trench!" I shout, releasing another arrow.

The arrow hits the wood of the trench but fizzles out almost instantly. With the amount of wind and the little power from the flame, it's useless. Still, we continue to fire at the trench.

I shake my head. "It's no use."

"We need something bigger," Arya says.

"Or more powerful."

And I see her, the Red Woman, walking out of the safety of the walls. A flash of a vision comes before my eyes and I see a sword followed by the trench being lighted in a burst of flame. The whispering in my mind starts and I feel drawn from my post.

"Protect the barrier!" I order. "Protect the retreat!"

I sling my bow onto my back and turn towards the stairs before Arya grabs my arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Someone has to get that trench lit," I say.

Arya motions to the many men trying and failing to light the trench, being attacked by the dead before they even get a chance.

"We need dragon fire!" she says.

I wrench my arm from her. "Keep the command. I'll be back when I can. That's an order!"

Arya glares at me but nocks another arrow and fires down below. I can see Jaime and Brienne fighting their way into the safety of Winterfell. I can see Jorah and Leander in the distance, but only for a moment before the wind obscures my sight.

I rush down the steps, unsheathing Lionheart in the process. Lyanna Mormont and other soldiers protect the gates as well as members of the Unsullied. Jaime sees me in passing but I'm too quick for him to grab ahold of me. He shouts my name but I press on, pushing through retreating soldiers and armored guards as well as the chevron barricades. Melisandre places her hands on the wooden pillars in the trench and is saying an incantation that gets blown away by the howling winds and screams alike.

My sword seems to burn in my hand the closer I get to the trench. I maneuver past the Unsullied and cut down two wights that lunge at me. One catches my shoulder but I use my wolf dagger to jam it quickly into its throat.

 _May the Light be present here as my journey comes to its end_ , I say to whatever god will hear me.

More wights slip through the cracks in the barricade as we try and fail to get the trench lit. I search the sky for any sign of the dragons but find nothing. Archers shoot down enemies and a few attempt in vain to start a fire against the wood. Melisandre continues her spell but the trench remains unlit. I cut down more wights as I edge closer, a few paces away from the Red Woman. My blood runs cold when I see how many are still coming for us, slipping through barricade after barricade. Unsullied, Dothraki, and bannermen alike fall to the dead.

I grip the handle of my sword with both hands, holding it out in front of me like one would in ceremony. I risk the danger of closing my eyes.

_If my purpose be true, light the trench. Let the dead burn in its wake._

I open my eyes to see more wights crawling through the wood to get to me, merely inches from striking. I wield my sword to stab one through its black heart when I feel it, the flames. Only it's not from the trench, but from my sword. The entire thing bursts forth with flame, licking my hands but not harming the skin. I set the wight on fire with one swipe. It screams and flails against the snow.

I turn to see Melisandre looking at me. There is fear on her face, but determination in her eyes. She's saying something; I'm not sure if it's the incantation or something directed at me. Finally, she just nods. I look at the trench and make a break for it, closing the distance with each thud of my boot. I yell, hoisting my blade high in the air, before plunging it into the trench itself.

Large, magnificent flames burst forth from the ground, igniting the wood and coiling around the castle like a protective serpent. The trench is lit. We've made it this far.

The flames are hot against my face, but they do not burn me. For a moment, all I can do is stare. It feels so surreal. Did the Lord of Light truly do this? The Many-Faced God? The Red Woman? But I can feel the power surging in my veins as I wrench the blade from the flames and step far away from the burning trench. My whole body feels like its vibrating. My mind is clear and the blade still burns in my hand. I stab it into the snow, just as I've seen Beric do many times, and the flames go out at my command. With a simple movement, it lights again.

A spout of dragon fire hits a section of the enemy at the furthest barricade and I almost laugh with relief. They can see us. Jon and Queen Daenerys can see us. The dead stand there, almost dumbfounded, staring at us through the flames. I slip through the chevron barricades and shout to man the walls. We can't rely on the trench forever. It's hard to forget the Night King has a dragon of his own. The dead will find a way through, we've only bought ourselves some time. We need to get into position now.

Others shout the same and we make our way behind the walls. Jorah, covered in dirt and blood, clasps my shoulder for a brief moment before making his way to help relieve some of the archers.

"Prepare for the next wave!" I shout.

At the sound of my voice, Jaime finds me in the crowd and grabs my arm. He says nothing, just lets out an exhausted breath of relief. We follow Brienne up the stairs. Arya and Davos are not far off, but I'm distracted by the sight behind the trench. Jaime shouts orders and I grab his arm.

"Jaime," is all I can say.

He follows my gaze to where the dead have begun to lay themselves onto the fire. One after another, until their bodies extinguish a section of the trench. The rest proceed to climb over them as more of their comrades do the same in other areas of the trench. They reach the last barrier before the walls and commanders from all over ready their men to fight. I ready an arrow without hesitation, shooting one after another before they can even reach the wall. Many archers do the same, but soon the dead reach the wall. They crawl on top of each other like spiders up the wall. They don't tire; they have no fear. They simply climb, somewhat slowly, to reach their prey.

I shoot a few more arrows before putting away my bow and unsheathing the new weapon from Gendry. I test the weight again, still astonished by how light it is, and wait. Archers continue to fire, but it almost seems useless as more dead seem to take the place of the fallen. It's as if a dark sea is coming for us. One we will surely drown in by daylight.

The first wight appears inches from my face and I slice up its neck with a swift slash from my blade. It falls backwards against the rest of them. More swarm up the wall in all areas, clawing and biting viciously over the edge. They lunge at me from different angles. I spin out of the reach of one and slice up another one's torso. Another jumps on my back and Gendry stabs it in the skull. I hold up my weapon to stop another from sinking its teeth into my shoulder and kick it in the stomach before slicing its throat. I attempt to fend off as many from the wall as I can, but we are easily outnumbered. Soon, they have us surrounded. Many of the men become overwhelmed, some are dragged over the edge into the darkness below.

Jaime is attacked by four wights at once and Brienne gets to him just in time. Another lunges at Brienne but Jaime cuts it down. Time seems to slow as more and more attack us at every front. I stab, kick, punch, whatever I need to do to survive in this battle. My sword glows with fire as I slice through more of them. I'm tiring, I know we all are, but I keep fighting. I'm knocked against the wall by a wight and I stab through its throat with Lionheart. The double-bladed weapon twirls in one hand while my sword cuts through another enemy in the process. I'm still pushed against the wall when I see a few jump on Jaime's back. Ser Jorah is not far off and the wights are attacking his legs, his arms. There are too many of them.

I sheathe my weapons and push myself up from the wall. I run towards and stab my daggers into both wights, pushing them off him. I throw one of the daggers into the wight trying to claw out Jorah's neck. I throw the other into the one dragging his arm down. This allows him to gain the upper hand in the fight, kicking them off before Leander comes to his aid, stabbing the few left alive. I suddenly feel myself being dragged down from behind, a loud unnatural screech in my ear. I elbow it harshly before throwing myself back into another wight. Another makes a mad dash for Gendry, who's back is turned as he battles the foes in front of him. I run as fast as I can towards it. With a cry, I tackle into it, sending us both crashing through the wooden bannister and onto the hard ground a little ways below.

The wind is knocked out of me when I land on my side and the wight is on top of me within seconds. I reach out to my side, grasping onto a wooden plank and smashing it into the side of its skull. I roll away from it, grabbing Lionheart that's flown a few feet away from me. Fighting through the pain, I leap to my feet and grasp the hilt. I stab through the wight as it lunges for me. A group of them sprint towards me as the fight ensues on the ground below. I flourish the other blade in one hand, while keeping Lionheart in the other. I spin away from one attack, slicing through two at once with the blades. I duck under another attack, then another. I barely have time to catch my breath before another group corners me. One of my weapons gets knocked from my hand, leaving only the flaming Lionheart as my defense.

Another flaming sword comes into view, cutting through a few of my attackers while I dispose of the rest. I turn to get a good look at Beric who waves me out of the way. I step to the side just as a wight jumps towards me. Beric cuts through it and I rush to his side. I'm overcome with a sense of dread, like I'm forgetting or missing something important. I instantly begin scanning our surroundings to search for the source of that feeling.

Robb. I haven't seen-

But then he comes into few, stabbing though a wight before they can overwhelm Tormund. The two fight side by side, guarding the other's backs as they make their way through the battle. Beric shouts to someone, The Hound, who seems to be in a trance. He just stands there, breathing heavily and staring at nothing. Men continue to die all around us. The torch light the dead's blue eyes as they charge forward. And that's when the feeling becomes clear.

Arya.

I look just in time to see her slashing into multiple wights up above before fleeing into the building. I shout her name and instantly make a break for the building. The doors have collapsed from the outside, and I do something I haven't done since the journey to capture the wight. Keeping my weapons secure, I climb. I grab onto the panels and hoist myself up, using the planks underneath my feet for support. My arms scream in protest as I continue to climb, blood soaking my hands as I dig into the wood.

My feet slip and dangle below. I cry out as the weight on my shoulders grows even heavier. I can hear the wights down below, along with the men trying everything they can to fend them off. I grit my teeth and grab onto another floor level. I sling my arm over and use my feet to gain momentum up the wall. After I sling my other arm, I'm able to pull myself the rest of the way. I kick a wight over the edge as it seems to come flying towards me from the depths. I sprint down the doorway Arya disappeared into without a moment's hesitation.

What gets me is the eerie silence inside the fortress. A few chairs turn over in the distance, there's a slam against the door, but it's still so quiet compared to the insanity outside. I stick to the shadows and still, I can sense that I'm not alone. There are many wights in here; ten, probably more, and that's just this floor. I keep my back to the wall and step lightly through the long hallway. I remember everything in my training, slinking back from view when one of the dead move past a doorway. One after another, they move slowly in and out of the rooms ahead. As soon as their backs are turned, I move past them and into the next hallway. I can't risk killing them and sounding an alarm for more.

It's even darker in the next hallway, but I'm accustomed to the dark. I allow my eyes to adjust and focus on my sense of touch. It's likely Arya went this way. We were trained the same in this area, and the safest way to get through this place is through this last hallway and to remain as quiet as possible. At the far East corner, there's a barricade that can be triggered from the outside. If she can make it there, she can close off half the wights from the rest of the building. But if she can't make it there, where would she go...

The door to the library is wide open. It's a long shot, but that may be the best way to go. There's no telling what lurks in the rest of the hallway. At least the fire provides a little light within. If there are wights, maneuvering them may be the slightest bit easier. I take a breath and slip inside. Right away, I can spot droplets of blood on the floor. From a wight, maybe. But these droplets are unlike anything else on the floor. There's markings on the shelves from where someone hid, droplets near a table that someone likely used for a hiding spot. And that would make me relieved if it weren't for one thing.

The room is empty. No wights in sight.

They must have caught wind of her, or something else. I don't waste another moment and go tearing off into the dark, nearly slamming into the side of the doorway in the process. That's when I hear it, the unnatural shrieks followed by a garbled sound only the dead make. For the first time, I follow the sound. I fly down stairways and through vacant rooms. I'm just in time to see a swarm of them push Arya through a door. She shoves and kicks but they have the upper hand.

I ready my bow and nock an arrow. The first one flies into the one directly on top of her. The next two go into the skulls of the ones on top of that one. That's when the rest of the group turns their attention to me and come charging. There's no time to put away my bow by the time they're on me, so I use it as a weapon of its own. I hit skulls and kick fleshy torsos. A blade sinks into my arm and I barrel into the attacker to throw them off me.

"Get out of here!" I scream to Arya, though I can no longer see her through the swarm as more come my way.

A wight grabs onto my back and I fall onto the floor. More pile on top of me and I try my best to hold their snapping jaws at bay. Another blade sinks into my side and I cry out, bringing my knee up as hard as I can. The dead grip me like a vice, screaming their horrendous screams.

A flaming blade soars through the air, landing in one of the wights trying to bite my face. Swords clash nearby and I can hear Arya yell as she slams into one of the wights closest to me. The Hound drags me to my feet, with Arya and Beric close in tow. I then see Leander and Robb fending off the rest. The Hound yells for us to move and pushes me and Arya out of the line of fire. More wights break through another door. One of them grabs ahold of Beric and stabs him somewhere I can't see, blood spewing in the process. Robb cuts the thing down, closely followed by Leander as we all run down the hallway.

I get in front, determined to lead them to the waiting barricade. The Hound shoulders through one of the locked doors for me as we continue down. No one asks questions, they just follow. Someone closes the door behind us, barricading it as we continue to flee. Down a few more hallways and I see it, a lifted barricade set to drop down like a shield over the entryway once it's triggered. I hurriedly step to the side and usher them in. I can hear the dead bashing against the barricaded door not too far off. It won't hold them for long.

"Can you get it shut?" Robb asks Leander on the other side as the two search for the trigger.

"I don't see a lever!" Leander replies.

"For fuck's sake!" The Hound shouts.

I'm still standing outside the safety of the barricade. I can see the lever, on _my_ side. I had it mapped wrong. The trigger was designed to protect us on the side I'm on; the one with the wights. Had we been coming from the other direction... I shake my head.

"It can only be triggered from this side," I say over the shouts.

Arya and Robb immediately come to my side to get a better look at the lever. The Hound grabs at the hovered gate and gives it a hard pull. It shifts a little but it's still wedged in there. He tries again, this time with Robb and Leander's help, still; it only budges a little. I see Beric slumped over on the wall, not dead but not in good condition. Blood continues to flow down his torso. My heart aches at the sight of him.

"Come on," Robb says, motioning for us to follow. "If we can't pull this down, we have to keep moving. They'll break through any second. Arya, Lysandra, now!"

Arya looks at me when I don't budge. I'm still glancing at the lever and back to the hallway with the waiting dead. I look to the group with tears in my eyes, then at Arya.

"I'm sorry," I say.

I hear the barricaded door snap open and turn to see a few of the wights rush from around the corner. Robb is yelling something but my mind is tuned out. I roughly shove Arya through the doorway, knocking her into Robb in the process, and kick the lever as hard as I can. The wheels turn with an alarming screech and the gate slams to the ground; separating me with the wights on one side, and my friends on the other.

"No!" Arya shouts, grasping the narrow bars of the gate.

Ignoring the shouts after me, I sprint in the opposite direction at full speed. I can feel the rumble of the ground as the dead chase after me. I muster up every strength I have left and urge myself onward. And for some strange reason, my childhood flashes before my eyes.

I imagine myself running through the halls in Casterly Rock and the Red Keep; my golden hair flying behind my back and father shaking his head at me in disapproval. My siblings laughing and rolling their eyes as I challenged them to a race I knew they could not win. It's there only for a moment, and then I'm back in the dark hallways of Winterfell, running for what could be my last time. How different my life has turned out to be.

I don't know how many hallways and staircases I run down before I find myself cornered into a room. I slam the doors shut and barricade it with as much furniture as I can find in the room. There's no other doorway, no escape-hatch, just two windows right next to each other, too many stories up to jump through.

I slump against the wall, panting like a maniac as sweat and blood rolls down my face. I close my eyes and ignore the screaming and pushing from the other side of the door. I can feel the Sight reaching out for me. I fight it at first, but in the end I'm too weak. It pulls me into a trance-like state.

I can see the Night King, now descended on the ground and making his way towards the Godswood. He raises the fallen dead alike as he sets off to find Bran. I can see Theon fighting, all on his own, when the Night King comes for him. Just Theon against countless White Walkers and the Night King himself. He will be killed, and then Bran will be unprotected. Jon will try and fail to save him. He'll be alone. They'll all be alone.

Then the scene shifts, the one I've seen many times before. Countless bodies strewn about on the snow of Winterfell. Robb defenseless and bleeding around his fallen kin. He will die. The Night King is here and he won't rest until he's found his eternal night.

We'll all be too late. We _can't_ be too late.

 _Blood for blood_. A strange voice whispers in my mind.

I rip myself from the vision and bolt upright. I grip the hilt of my sword and stare at the shaking door. I know I won't be able to fight my way through. I close my eyes one more time and take a deep breath.

Bracing myself, I run directly for the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dead have overrun the walls of Winterfell. Lysandra has been separated from her companions, and now she's learned that Bran's life hangs in the balance. The Lannister knows she has a bigger part to play in this story, but the question remains... what is it?


	26. An Eternal Night

I land hard on my shoulder before falling off the roof below and onto the solid ground. I struggle to breathe for what seems like forever and my knees scream in pain. The intensity of the fall causes my vision to blur. I reach my hands out in front of me to bring myself some focus. The earth kind of topples over itself as I try to push to my feet. I grab onto the side of the nearest post, wincing as the pressure attacks my legs.

The area around me is deserted but for a few corpses, but I can still hear the battle fresh in my ears nearby. Then I hear a loud crash from above. I look up to see wights beginning to pile through the window after me. I push myself from the post and force myself to run. Their screams fill the air when they spot me as more and more begin falling from the window after me. I urge myself on, but I'm still so disoriented. My joints ache profusely but something drives me forward.

I make a break for the Godswood, but I know I won't make it through the fastest path. The dead will be on me in moments if I take it, seeing as there's no way for me to conceal myself with buildings or back alleyways. Instead, I cut through the Great Keep towards the direction of the armory. I see faces I don't recognize being massacred by the dead. Fire erupts from all corners of the city as arrows are shot and dragons attack overhead. Blue fire encompasses the entire Library Tower in the distance. The Night King is getting closer and his dragon is getting angrier by the second. This needs to end, and soon, or we'll all be dead.

I risk a look behind me to see a terrifying amount of wights charging towards me, moving in an impossibly large blur. More appear from up ahead, forcing me towards the First Keep and farther from the Godswood. I don't want to run. I want to fight, but there are too many of them. Any that I fight will be more time wasted. More time for the Night King to get to Bran. But the wights are cornering me against the wall... I'll have no choice but to fight my way out and make a path of my own design.

I slip into one of the archways and catch my breath. My path to the Godswood is cut off. The only way now is through the First Keep and past the Crypts. My eyes widen as more wights burst through broken windows and busted doors in the distance. I cannot afford to delay much longer. I take out Lionheart and the blade springs to life with flames. I close my eyes and take a breath, holding the sword in front of me like a prayer. I hear my heartbeat thudding against my eardrums as I anticipate my next move. Finally, I take one last breath and emerge from my hiding place.

My blade collides with a wight almost instantly. I struggle against it, finally stabbing through its neck before taking off into another sprint. Another lunges for me and I barely avoid its touch. I'm yanked by my clothes, my hair, but I'm able to fight the assailants off. I cut down enemy after enemy, running until my lungs are begging for air. I finally stumble against the wall, still too far from the First Keep to reach any form of safety. I turn to see a multitude of wights hurrying after me. Their limbs sway impossibly as they run.

I'm cornered. My path is blocked and all that is left to do now is fight. I ready the double-bladed weapon in my free hand and prepare myself for the inevitable. A few of the living fight in the distance, but they're too far away to seek any help from. Orange and blue fire blaze overhead and I can see glimpses of the dragons colliding above. The darkened clouds light with the colors of fire.

Everything around me seems to slow: the wights, my heartbeat, the sounds of battle surrounding me. Lionheart continues to blaze with fire and I allow myself one more breath. This is it. I have to make it through. I can sense the Night King inching closer to the Godswood. The Ironborn have almost all fallen, leaving Theon alone to protect Bran. Jon is fighting his way through Winterfell to get to them but he's far too delayed. I don't have time to sense much else before the wights reach me.

My limbs fight through the exhaustion, shoving and stabbing wights in all directions. I barely notice the first flaming arrow that shoots into one of my foes. Then another. Soon, a whole shower of flaming arrows erupt from the sky behind me, commanded by a strong, loud voice. Many of the dead fall as they pursue me, and the few that reach me are cut down by my blades.

I risk a look up at the top of the wall and see a group of archers at the ready. At the center stands Jaime ordering his men to release more arrows. We lock eyes and he gives me a nod before motioning behind me. I turn just in time to defend myself against two more wights. More flaming arrows sink into the grey flesh of the dead. Their bodies collapse in heaps on the ground. More of them are coming at me from the buildings in the distance, but I can't wait any longer.

I turn to Jaime and shout, "Bran!"

He nods in understanding, pointing towards the clear path.

"Go!"

I take off in the direction of the Crypts. I'm running so fast that I don't see a wight erupt from the shadows. It catches my shoulder, bringing me down with a hard crash. It disorients me further and I reach out to push the thing away from my throat. It sinks its teeth deep into my arm as I manage to pry it off me, making me scream in pain.

Suddenly a large figure races into view, pushing the wight off me with a ferocious growl. Grey Wind rips into the wailing dead, tearing it to pieces. His armor clanks effortlessly against teeth as he finishes it off. He looks up at me expectantly, as if waiting for an order. A weak smile comes across my lips.

"Good boy," I say, getting to my feet. "Go find Robb, okay?"

But he doesn't budge. He just stands there waiting.

I give him a look. "You can't come with me. It's too dangerous."

I take a step and so does he. Finally, I sigh.

"Stay close. We have to get to Bran."

Grey Wind follows close on my heels into battle. More wights come after me the closer I get to the Godswood. I cut them down with Lionheart and Grey Wind wastes no time in clearing our path. I can see a few men being overwhelmed by wights near the Crypt. They cry and beg for the door to be opened as the dead attack. Grey Wind and I aid them as much as we can, enough to buy them enough time to retreat.

"Go!" I shout. "More men are needed on the walls!"

Then I hear a voice through the doors of the Crypt.

"Lysandra?"

Just the sound of Tyrion's voice brings tears to my eyes. Something comes over me as I press my hand to the stone.

"Don't open this door for anyone," I say, my voice wobbling slightly. "No one, you hear me?"

"Lys-"

"I love you, Tyrion."

I push myself from the wall and sprint towards the Godswood with Grey Wind, trying to ignore the shouts from my brother beyond that door. In my heart, I can't shake the fear that it will be the last time I hear his voice. I wipe the tears from my face and press on.

The entrance to the Godswood is seemingly vacant other than a few weapons and corpses sprawled along the way. I instinctively pick up a bow and a quiver filled with some arrows. It's not nearly enough but it's a start. Then I see one of the dead's hands twitch. Then they all begin to twitch. I'm frozen for a moment with Grey Wind emitting a low growl beside me. The corpses open their eyes to reveal a terrifying blue. Slowly, they begin to rise up.

One by one, their cold eyes lock on me as they push themselves back to their feet. A group of them now block the exit. They almost appear to hover in place before stalking toward us. Alarms ring in my head at the sight. The dead are rising, _he_ has risen them. If we don't get to Bran soon, if we don't end this, the living will not stand a chance.

I quickly place the bow and quiver on my back and ready my flaming sword. Grey Wind lunges into action first before they can run at us. He tears into two at the same time with ease. I parry another's blade that goes to attack him and stab the foe through the eye. I use a broken rope nearby to strangle another that jumps on Grey Wind's back. Together, we manage to get through the entrance and run into the trees. I can already see the old weirwood tree and a few flaming arrows soar just beyond it. I can't see Bran, but I can see glimpses of Theon fighting the dead. Then, he stops, as if the whole world has stopped with him.

I sense him before I see him. The Night King, and the White Walkers he's brought with him. They stand there, staring at Theon in an almost strange curiosity. As if they're surprised he's still fighting when his companions all lie dead around him. Slowly, they begin getting to their feet as well, with the unnatural blue eyes to match. I can sense Theon's defeat, but can feel the determination when he looks at Bran. He looks at the Night King waiting in the distance and readies his weapon. I hear Bran speak to him but I can't quite make it out over the thudding of my heart.

I come into the view of the scene entirely. My blood runs cold when I see the Night King fully. His icy flesh and dead eyes look even more terrifying in close proximity. He hasn't touched his weapon, hasn't even made a move towards it. He doesn't feel threatened in the slightest. His eyes look as if they flicker with blue flame when they land on me. Grey Wind doesn't stop and neither do I. He gets there first, attacking a group of wights with a roar that startles Theon. I throw the double-bladed weapon into a White Walker, spurring on an attack that was at a standstill moments before.

Theon looks at me in bewilderment. The blood and dirt across his face make him look like a madman complete with wild eyes. I only look at him for a moment before turning my attention to the Night King who is still rooted in his spot. The hate in his eyes is certain, and suddenly a jarring, deep male voice echoes in my head.

_You will fall._

I know it's the Night King speaking to me. How he's able to, I do not know, but an angry sneer comes across my face.

"I don't need to defeat you," I say, knowing he can hear me. "I just need to keep you from Bran long enough." I look to Theon. "I'm with you."

He nods firmly and the two of us spring into action. Theon's movements are surprising fluid considering how exhausted he must be. When I can manage to retrieve my weapon, I toss it to him and he wields it like a true soldier. Grey Wind manages to tackle the front line with what appears to be minor injuries. His powerful jaw snaps and tears in every direction. His claws rip and shred everything they can touch. The White Walkers are much more difficult foes. Unlike the dead, they have master precision and can use their blades as a menacing art form. I feel as though my training as The Shadow has prepared me for this very moment. Even though every inch of me burns with tiredness and pain, I keep fighting by Theon's side.

My legs are slashed multiple times until I fall to the ground, blood staining the snow. A White Walker goes to finish the job when Theon drives a spear through its heart. He quickly helps me to my feet before coming into contact with another Walker. Grey Wind howls as something is driven through his leg, but I don't have the time to worry when a Walker clashes blades with mine. Ever so slowly, I can see the Night King making his way towards us as his followers make a path for him.

My weakening limbs are taken advantage of when a dagger slices along my arm. I hiss in pain before knocking the blade out of the Walker's hand and retreating a few feet. Two figures emerge from the darkness from behind the attacking group. The flames illuminate the features of one I know all too well. Robb springs into action with a battle yell and attacks a Walker that is ready to blindside Grey Wind. Then I see Jon, who only has his focus on the Night King. He slashes through wights and Walkers until he can reach the Night King, but the Night King is ready for him far before their blades clash.

With just enough distance between me and the dead, I empty my quiver, grasp the arrows and slam them into the snow. I ready my bow, dropping to one knee and grabbing and firing as many arrows as I can manage. I fire at the enemies my allies can't see coming. One Walker grips Robb by the throat while another advances. I manage to protect him with my last arrow, firing it into the heart of the one that clutches him. Robb is able to gather his bearings and end the other one before it can do any damage.

The powerful battle between Jon and the Night King grows more urgent as the Night King manages to inch closer to Bran with every step. He knocks Jon to the ground with a hard blow to his side. I try to run for them but am knocked to the ground. One of the Walkers goes to stab me but my bow acts like a shield. The two of us struggle as the Night King raises his sword above Jon's torso. Robb jumps in front of his brother. He knocks the sword aside with his own, taking on the Night King's fury as he drives him away from Jon. The Night King knocks Robb's sword out of his hand and uses it to crack across Robb's face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The Night King then advances on Theon, who is preoccupied with three more Walkers attempting to close in on him and Bran. He doesn't see the spear being aimed at his back as he fights. I struggle with the enemy on top of me. With a sudden jolt of fury, the bow in my hands erupts with fire. The flames surge upward towards the Walker, causing him to reel back in surprise and pain. I use my weight to leap to my feet, cracking the bow across the Walker's chest to light him on fire. I retrieve Lionheart and stab through his chest.

The Night King is merely feet from Theon now. I shout to him but he's unable to hear me over the commotion. With my sword in hand, I run towards the two of them. Blood pours from my face, nearly obstructing my vision as I fight through the remaining Walkers in my path. Robb and Jon fight side by side, attempting to reach the Night King but being blocked off by more Walkers.

I push through the enemies like mad, slashing and kicking in any way I can. And finally, there is nothing left in front of me but the Night King himself. I swing my sword down as hard as I can, but he simple steps out of my reach. He uses his arm to collide with my throat, sending me to my knees before continuing his pursuit of Bran and Theon.

I gasp for air and take in the sight of Bran in his chair. His eyes meet mine and it's almost as if there's nothing there. No fear, no fight, no determination. He simply awaits whatever fate is waiting for him; and then his face changes. The longer he continues to stare at me, the sadder his face becomes. It's a look of distant pity. Then his eyes roll into the back of his head until nothing but a greyish white color remains. His head leans back as he stares at the nothingness of the sky. I wait for him to come out of it, but he remains in his trance.

I look to Theon, still fighting, still outnumbered and unaware. The Night King readies his spear, reeling his hand back in preparation of plunging the weapon into Theon's back. I push myself to my feet, my sword absent from my hand in the struggle. I lurch forward and grab the spear with my bare hands. I hold onto it for as long as I can before the Night King wrenches it upwards. Theon turns around just in time to see me and the Night King, but it's too late. Using the surprise to his advantage, the Night King drives the spear towards Theon's chest. I try to grab for the spear again but it slips through my fingers. And then, in a moment of fear and determination, I jump in front of the spear.

I don't have time to register the spear plunging into my stomach. And for a moment, everything seems silent. The snowflakes and ash swirling around us fall at a slower pace. A puddle of warmth forms around my abdomen, trickling downward in a fatal waterfall. My breathing slows and all I can think to do is place my hands around the part of the spear sticking out from my body. My hands are immediately wet with blood and I pull them away to look at the amount of red covering my skin. My hands shake from the shock.

Suddenly, I meet the Night King's eyes. There's a look of understanding in them, of even... pity? For a moment, he looks just as shocked as I am. But the cold evil in them surpasses all the rest.

I see flashes of my childhood: sneaking down to the sea with Jaime at Casterly Rock, Cersei teaching me how to braid the crown of my head, reading on different sides of the library with Tyrion. I see Lysander in my arms as an infant, the way he cried when I handed him over to Ellya for the last time. I see my mother's face smiling down on me, the rare softness in my father's eyes the day I was sent away to the Freys. I see Tyrion shoot our father with a crossbow. I see the hurt in Jaime's eyes when I returned to King's Landing for the meeting. I see flashes of Jorah, Jon, Sansa, Arya, The Hound. I see Beric dying for the last time. I see the House of Black and White, Jallen's death, my training with Rewan and the last time we'd ever fight. I see my entire life in a matter of seconds, ending with the faces that have come to mean the most to me. Leander's smiling face comes into my mind. I think of all the time we will never have. I can hear father's song playing in my ears.

And then all that comes to my mind is... Robb. How much I love him...and will never get to tell him.

My vision clears and I can see the hateful blue eyes of the Night King once again. Grasping onto the spear, he kicks me hard in the torso. My body falls back from the spear, directly into Theon's arms behind me. The motion sends both of us crashing to the ground. My vision begins to blur, and all I can feel are Theon's arms around me. I can see the Night King advance on Bran, still in his trance. They're nearly feet from each other now.

We've failed.

But... the shadows whisper all around us. Something lurks unseen in the trees. And then in the corner of my vision, I see her. Arya leaps from the trees like a warrior in the night, straight towards the King himself. He catches her in time, his hand on her throat and the other clutching the hand that holds her dagger. The blade falls, but Arya is not finished. She catches the blade in her free hand with expert precision... and plunges the dagger into the Night King.

The King erupts in a shatter of ice, sending Arya falling to the ground with a hard thud. All around, Walkers and wights alike shatter and fall. Jon and Robb get to their feet, bloodied and injured but alive. I can see the immense relief on Theon's face as he cradles me, but it fades quickly as he looks down at me. He keeps my wound covered the best he can, but the blood will not stop flowing.

"Robb!" Theon shouts in a strangled voice. It echoes in my ears, as if I'm trapped underwater somewhere.

I can't feel anything anymore.

The smile fades from Robb's face when his eyes land on us. Without hesitation, he sprints towards us. Grey Wind is close behind his master, limping but otherwise unharmed. The color drains from Jon's face as he watches Robb fall to his knees and take my bloodied body from Theon's arms into his own. I can see Arya for only a moment, unable to stand, staring at us from beside Bran. Then all I see is Robb as he cradles me.

"It's alright," he says gently, tears spilling from his eyes. "I've got you. You're alright."

He reaches for my bloodied wound, but by now it's swimming with so much blood it's difficult to see the wound itself. He lets out a sharp breath as he tries to control a sob. I feel Grey Wind by my feet and he lets out a low whine.

My bloodied hand touches Robb's face, and more tears spill as he cradles my hand with his own. Blood and tears mix on my face as I take in his beautiful, natural blue eyes. The unwelcome music in my head comes to a halt at the sight of him.

I gently grasp his hand and pull it down to my chest, now cradling his hand in both of mine as if intertwined in ceremony.

"I am yours and you are mine," I whisper. Robb's eyes close briefly at the sound of those words. "From this day, until..." I struggle for air and a trickle of blood falls from my mouth.

"Until the end of my days," Robb finishes in a broken whisper.

I smile weakly and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to my lips.

The last thing I see are the eyes of the one I love.

**The Godswood**

Arya's heart is numb as she watches Robb close Lysandra's eyes with his fingers. His entire body convulses as he cries, kissing her forehead before resting his own against hers. Arya didn't know when Jon came to stand by her side, but his presence was known when he placed his hand on her shoulder. But she could barely feel it, even then.

One of the few friends she had in this world is lost forever. She didn't make it in time for Lysandra... but Bran. She looks to her brother and tries to focus on the fact that she _did_ make it in time to save him. Her siblings are safe, even if Bran is... somewhere else. She still isn't sure how the Three Eyed Raven thing works, but she knows that Bran is safe. He'll come out of this... at least she hopes.

But her eyes keep straying back to Lysandra's body in Robb's arms. Grey Wind laying in mourning at her feet and Theon standing nearby with his head bowed. Arya doesn't know how long they stay there until Jon finally approaches Robb. With a hand on his shoulder, he says a few words to him that she can't hear and Robb eventually nods and stands; still holding Lysandra in his arms. Together, they all make their way to the center of the city.

**The Courtyard**

Jaime still feels the aftershock of the battle and the fact that, in retrospect, they've finally won. He didn't believe they could, but they did nonetheless. He exchanges a look with Brienne that's a mixture of disbelief and tired excitement, when he sees the Stark children approaching the Courtyard with a direwolf and Theon Greyjoy. He sees the forlorn look on all their faces and only then does he notice the body in Robb Stark's arms.

Jaime tries to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be Lysandra. Especially since Lysandra was now fearless these days and full of more fight than she had ever been... but he knew he saw her run for the Godswood. He knew she went to go protect Bran. But surely she isn't dead. The Maester can fix her wounds as he's done before. His sister will be fine.

But the look on Robb's face says otherwise.

Jaime makes his way through the crowd until he's close enough to see for himself.

"Stark," Jaime says.

He's about to say something else when he sees the look on Jon and Arya's faces. Robb meets Jaime's eyes, his face streaked with fresh and dried tears. He slowly approaches Jaime before carefully placing Lysandra into Jaime's now waiting arms. All it takes is for Jaime to look at his little sister's peaceful face before he sinks to his knees. He weeps for the first time in a long time, rocking his Little Shadow in his arms.

No one around them says anything. No one touches Jaime or the Starks or attempts to comfort. There is no comfort, and there won't be for a very long time.

People are let out from the Crypt due to the newfound safety, and Sansa and Tyrion are smiling at one another by the time they reach the Courtyard searching for their loved ones. Tyrion stops in his tracks, followed closely by Sansa. He doesn't need to be close to tell who Jaime is holding; who he is crying over.

Sansa almost feels guilt at being relieved that her family is safe as she watches Tyrion fall to his knees. His cries overwhelm him, and Sansa stoops down and holds him in his grief. Her heart is filled with so much relief and sorrow in one simple moment. And as Tyrion clings to her, he knows as well as the rest; nothing will ever be the same again.

As Robb begins to make his way through the wreckage to be alone, Arya is the only one who hears the words he utters.

"Cersei will pay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle with the Night King has ended. Our heroine has fallen and Bran is trapped in a warg state. 
> 
> The fallen will be remembered... as will Cersei's betrayal.
> 
> But what does Lysandra's death mean for the people of Winterfell?
> 
> Writer's Fact: I listened to a mixture of Ramin Djawadi's masterpieces while writing this, especially The Night King and Goodbye Brother. During Lysandra's death, I picture the Winterfell/Stark theme playing as she says her goodbye to Robb. Lysandra will always be a Lannister, yes. But a portion of her heart has been a Stark for a very long time, and I believe that is shown with the selfless actions surrounding her death. What are your thoughts?


	27. Queen of the Ashes

The funeral is a dismal affair, filled with the stench of blood and sorrow. The pyres are readied with Lysandra Lannister, Lyanna Mormont, Beric Dondarrion, and many others lying on them; too many to count. Nonetheless, they are all honored amongst their brethren with pyres to be lit by the living. Ser Jorah Mormont lights his cousin's, Arya Stark lights Beric's, and Jaime Lannister lights his sister's pyre. The residents of Winterfell mourn, but most tears have already been shed. The celebration will commence later tonight, even for those who don't feel like celebrating.

Jon Snow gives a speech for the fallen that will be remembered for many years to come, as will those who fought and gave their lives to protect the living. Tyrion Lannister stands a few feet in front of Leander Stone. The young man's head has been bowed for quite some time, not quite sure how to deal with the grief he wasn't ready to have. He has no words, no thoughts, only aches of what could have been. When Jaime rejoins them, he hesitates before clasping Leander's shoulder.

"I know you didn't get a chance to know your mother well," he says. "But you _still_ have family, Leander; if you'll have us." He gestures to Tyrion who is already giving the boy a sad, but genuine smile. "And we'll do our best to tell you whatever you want to know."

Leander says nothing, but he's touched by the words. Instead, he nods and Jaime brings a strong arm around his nephew's shoulders before leading him away from the crowd. Behind them, Tyrion solemnly tells them now is a good time as any to drink the darkness away.

Theon stands next to Sansa and her next to the rest of the Stark children. Robb is the most quiet, which worries Jon more than anything else at the moment. After the burning truly commences, Arya slips away from her siblings. She cries silently, away from prying eyes as she looks on Beric, who saved her life, and Lysandra, who was the kind of friend she never expected to have. It hurts like all the Seven Hells combined, and she doesn't have any idea how she'll ever recover from it. But she knows where to start, and it's with a woman who has been on her list for most of her life. Robb was right. Cersei will pay. She'll pay for it all.

The gathering slowly begins to disperse and Theon cautiously lays a hand on Robb's shoulder before he can walk away. Robb looks at Theon's hand, then at his face, but surprisingly doesn't react harshly. Instead, he waits for his former friend to speak his mind.

"I know you blame me," Theon says, the frown deepening on his face. "And I blame myself too. If I could trade places with Lysandra-"

"Don't." Robb shakes his head, jaw stiff. "She cared about you, about all of us. She knew what she was doing and it was her choice. She was protecting you and Bran, and you protected my brother as well. You kept your word. I won't forget that."

Theon nods, clearly moved by the words. His hand lingers on Robb's shoulder before he slowly drops it to his side.

"When I saw her in the Godswood," he says softly. "I thought she was a god herself. Covered in blood; wielding arrows and blades and fire. She struck fear into all. The world will be a darker place without her."

A wave of emotion passes over Robb's face. For a moment, he looks as if he's going to break down again as he imagines the last moment of Lysandra, but he gathers himself. He knows he needs to show strength now more than ever. The battle is not over yet.

Robb meets Theon's eyes with sincerity.

"She gave you a second chance," he tells him. "Don't waste it."

Robb pats Theon's shoulder before following Jon away from the funeral. Eventually, everyone has left except for two. Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane. Neither of them speak, nor do they even look at each other. They simply walk until they're standing together, watching their friends and allies burn away. Sandor uncaps his flask and drinks from it before passing it to Arya, who gladly accepts.

***

Despite the destruction and death toll against Winterfell, battle plans forge onward as Queen Daenerys plots her attack on King's Landing. It's not an official gather; just Daenerys, Jon, Robb, Jorah, and Grey Worm. She'll involve Tyrion later. She knows how much Tyrion loved his sister, and now is the time for him to mourn, not to plan the destruction of his former home. There won't be much time for him to do so, but she can at least give him until tomorrow.

"We need to infiltrate the city within a fortnight," Grey Worm says. "We can't waste any more time than that."

"Our armies are weakened and weary," Jorah reasons. "We need more time to gather ourselves."

"We're already out of time," Robb says. "The longer we wait, the stronger Cersei's armies become. We take what little time we can, and then we march on King's Landing." He looks to Daenerys. "With all due respect, Your Grace, she's sat on the throne long enough."

"He's right," Jon says to Daenerys. "You're our queen. We follow your command, wherever it takes us."

"And what do you suggest?" she asks them, ice in her voice that hasn't thawed since the aftermath of the battle. "Another meeting? A chance for a change of heart or leniency?"

"Do what you want," Robb practically snaps. "Make her pay. Burn the kingdom to the ground."

Jon casts a weary look at his brother, but Daenerys almost looks pleased which worries Jon even more. Robb's grief and Daenerys's anger are not a good mix, especially if it's tied in with bloodlust and revenge. Jorah carefully wedges his way into the conversation and brings Dany's attention to him.

"You didn't come all this way to be queen of the ashes, Your Grace," he says gently. "You said it yourself. We will take King's Landing, but we must do it the _right_ way."

Daenerys takes a breath and casts a look at the men in the room. Her eyes eventually rest on Jon and the two share a tired, yet tense look.

"We'll discuss this tomorrow," she says. "The people deserve to celebrate the victory... and you need to rest. We all do."

After a few looks, the group begins to disperse. Daenerys asks Jon to wait but he tells her he'll find her later; that he needs to speak with his brother. Jon catches up with Robb in the hall and Robb is less than willing to talk to anyone, especially now. Finally, Jon catches his arm and pulls Robb into one of the rooms.

"What?" Robb snaps.

"Daenerys is looking for any excuse to fuel her anger right now," Jon says. "Hells, we all are. And I know you're hurting-"

"Do you?" Robb's voice grows louder.

Jon's eyebrows furrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You had no idea who Lysandra was, who she _really_ was. She _died_ for us, for all of us! She cared about people, she fought for people-"

"I know that, Robb," Jon reasons. "Of course, I know that."

"You didn't know her like I did!" The tears begin to surface on Robb's face. "After Talisa, I didn't think I could... but now she's gone too. And I don't know how to be here without her. But I do know how to strategize and prepare armies for battle, and do the next right thing. It's what she would want... so that's what I'm going to do."

He angrily wipes the tears from his face.

"Robb," Jon says, keeping his voice gentle. "Do you really think the right thing is to burn King's Landing to the ground? I know I didn't know Lysandra as well as you, but I don't believe that's what she would want."

"She hated that place," Robb grumbles.

"Enough to kill thousands of innocent people?"

Robb gives him a look that Jon reciprocates in turn. Finally, he sighs.

"I don't know what to do, Jon."

And it's the break in his voice that causes Jon to embrace him as only brothers can. He hugs him tightly as Robb cries into his shoulder. How he wishes he had been there for Robb all the times he needed him most. It's different for both of them, this vulnerability. And Jon knows in this moment, he needs to tell Robb the truth about his parentage. He needs to tell all of his siblings, and it needs to be soon.

They stay like that for a while, neither one of them quite ready to let go.

***

Arya and the Hound sit outside on the ground in the cold winter air. They aren't far from the pyres, still burning with a powerful amount of flame that seems impossible all this time later. The sun and moon are both hovering in the sky and it's growing darker by the minute. The celebration has started and they can hear the cheers and loud voices of their allies inside the walls of Winterfell.

"So who's next on your list?" The Hound asks, taking a swig of his flask.

Arya stares at the flames in the distance, letting the rage inside her get swept away with the smoke. All she wants is to feel anger. To feel hatred. But it's the hurt that's overwhelming.

"Cersei will die," Arya says. "I just hope I'm the one who gets to do it."

"I'm sure there's a line," he huffs. "Your brother will be at the front of it."

Arya takes the flask from him. "Fine with me."

"Well," Sandor sighs. "Maybe the Dragon Queen will burn her to the ground first. Take away the trouble from both of you."

He laughs dryly to himself. He rubs his hands together to work out the cold that has reached his bones. A long moment of silence passes between them.

"You knew her well, right?" Arya asks him. "Lysandra."

"I knew her. A fucking fighter, that one."

"Yeah."

"Aren't you supposed to be celebrating?" he asks pointedly. "I mean, being the hero of the battle and all."

She gives him a wry smile.

"A hero," she says. "Right. Well, I'm not in the mood."

"You miss her," he says with a nod.

"She doesn't feel gone. Not yet, anyway. Don't really feel much of anything."

"Yeah."

There's a pause, and when Arya smiles again; it's a genuine one.

"She was the best fighter I knew," she says, thinking of her lost friend. "And she was like that without all the hate most carry."

The Hound looks at her for a moment with pity in his heart. It's brief, but it's there, and he can sense the sadness in her words.

"She saved your life," he says.

She nods once, the emotion slowly leaving her face.

"And I couldn't save hers."

Another silence before The Hound passes the flask to Arya indefinitely.

"I think you should finish this," he says.

***

**Lysandra**

The darkness has always been an ally of mine. It hides me when I need it, protects me from enemies. It allows me to think, to dream, to live... to die. And in the afterlife, assuming there would be one, I always thought it would be bright or vast or indefinite. But here I am, in the darkness; cold, wounded, alone.

And then I'm at the doors of the House of Black and White.

I'm in the same attire I was in the battle against the Night King. There is blood, but no wounds. A mixture of blood and ash coats my skin, my clothes, my hair. I remember everything, and yet I am not sad or in pain. I'm just... here. And I know I'm not alone.

I push open the doors and the inside of the building is the same as I remember it. High ceilings, torches, darkness. My footsteps echo against the stone before the place morphs into another familiar room. I'm now staring at the Hall of Faces. But, instead of stranger's faces, they're all of those I know.

Tywin. Shae. Joffrey. Robb. Jaime. Cersei. Jon. Arya. Jallen. The list of fallen and living faces is endless in the sea of faces plaguing my vision. They all have their eyes closed, as if they're in a peaceful-like trance. Peaceful... and dead.

A hooded figure steps from the shadows. It takes me a second to realize it's Rewan, or at least, someone wearing Rewan's face. He looks tired with a glimpse of pity in his eyes. He stares at me for a moment before he begins to speak.

"You've come to the world between worlds," he says, gesturing to the hall. "I had hoped when your journey led you here, it would be the end."

"I'm dead," I reply. My voice is surprisingly intact, echoing through the chamber. "How much more of an end can I have?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that, Shadow."

He looks at me and I realize I do. I know my journey isn't over, and what I must do to fulfill it. This is not my end, but merely a warning of what is coming. And then I see it: King's Landing falling to pieces amidst fire and ash, innocent people burning alive, Daenerys ascending to the throne and not leaving any other kingdom intact. A truly fearful leader, is one who believes they are doing good when in fact, they are only spreading evil. That is what her path will lead her down, especially if she feels she has nothing to lose.

"There is kindness in her heart," I say aloud. "I've seen it. I've felt it. Surely this is not the only path."

"It's the only path in existence," Rewan says. "But it is not the only path of destruction, I'm afraid."

Then I see a land of only ice and snow. A land that will always be seared into my memory. There, the dead march with impossible numbers and strength. At the head, the Night King himself. Alive, recovered, as if nothing had ever happened to him in the first place. The sight is impossible, and yet, I know it to be true. For a moment, I'm standing next to Bran. He nods at me, his face vacant.

My Sight returns me to the Hall of Faces and I'm left standing alone with Rewan amidst the torches and faces. My entire body shakes at the very thought of what I've just seen.

"It's not possible," I say. "Arya destroyed him. Destroying him destroyed the dead."

"Destroyed him in one sense, but not the other."

"Stop speaking in riddles to me!" I demand. "I killed you once, I'll kill you again. What does this mean?"

"You've seen what will come to pass if you fail," he replies sadly. "The army has been damaged, but it will return in time. The weapon must be forged. You know of the weapon I speak. And the foreign queen... she has much to lose."

Then I see it. All of it.

I know what must be done.

***

I smell the smoke before I feel the flames on my skin. My eyes shoot open and I inhale a large breath, feeling as if my body is nearly floating. I look up at the night sky and then I see the flames all around my body. I push myself from the thick slabs of wood and roll off the side of the pyre. My hands and knees bury into the snow as I gasp for air. My breathing is ragged but my lungs seem to be working again.

There's a commotion at my side and finally I see Arya kneeling in disbelief beside me. She looks from the pyre to me with wide eyes, shaking her head. The words she means to say die on her lips.

"Daenerys," I breathe. "I need to see the queen."

It's as if a mask covers her and suddenly she springs into action.

"Your coat!" Arya demands to someone. "Give her your coat."

"How the fuck is she-"

"Now!"

I recognize the other voice as Sandor Clegane. I look up just in time to see him cover my body with his furs. It's then I realize that most of my clothing has burned off in the fire, but I'm otherwise unharmed. Sandor helps me to my feet, wrapping the furs tighter around me until I clasp it between my hands. He looks as shaken as Arya, but they've both seen it before. Beric rising, Thoros, the rest of the Lord of Light followers. The shock and grief on their faces almost stays my mission, but I know I must not waste any more time.

"Please," I say. "I need to talk to the queen. We're all in danger."

"But Robb," Arya says. "Your family, they need to know-"

"They will. But I need to do this first. Please, Arya."

Finally, she nods.

"Let's get you some clothes," she says.

***

Arya accompanies me to the queen's chamber, as it's the only place left to look for Daenerys. Arya said she was missing from the main celebration, and from the shadows I could see Leander, Tyrion, and Jaime sitting amongst their comrades, including Brienne and Podrick. Their faces were solemn, but they managed to smile a few times amidst a very poor joke or two. All I wanted in that moment was to barge in and reach for them, but I knew it would only draw attention. Sandor could see the look on my face and offered to bring them to a more private setting when I was finished talking to the queen. I agreed, warning him to not tell anyone just yet, and he was off.

Before I go in, I ask Arya to wait outside. Surprisingly, she doesn't argue. I don't bother knocking and I push open the door. There, in the center of the room, stands Queen Daenerys, Bran, and Melisandre. They stand there, as if they've been waiting for quite some time. No surprise, no fear; at least not on Bran's face. Exchanging a look with Arya, I shut the door behind me. Daenerys regards me cautiously, trying to hide the surprise or even relief in her eyes.

"So it's true," she says, glancing at Bran.

"It is," he replies.

"We've been expecting you, Lady Lysandra," Melisandre says.

It's then I realize how mad I must look. Despite the change of clothes, my skin is still caked with blood and healed, but fresh, wounds. My blonde hair is wild and tangled with bits of ash still lingering within the strands.

"Tell us what you know," Bran says patiently. "I'm afraid I only have pieces."

"Why is she here?" I say, motioning to Melisandre. She regards me coolly.

"I am the only one who can forge the weapon you've seen," she says.

"As strange as this is," Daenerys says to me. "I'm relieved to see you're alright."

"Your Grace," I say hastily. "I'm afraid we have much to discuss. And not a lot of time to do so."

"Please," she motions to a seat. I shake my head. "What have you seen?"

I take a breath.

"Arya may have killed the Night King, but he will return. Along with an army far larger than this last one," I explain. "The only way to defeat him is if we stop it before it can begin. We need a weapon." I glance at Lysandra. "One that will take years to forge. One that will be forged with the most ancient kind of magic that is lost to many... along with my blood."

"Your blood?" Daenerys repeats.

"There is more than Lannister blood that flows in her veins," Melisandre says. "The Lord of Light saved her in the womb... saved her for this purpose. Her blood is the key to the Night King's demise. A light's end to darkness."

I nod, still rattled from the information.

"The Night King is the true threat," I say. "And we can't have two enemies when the time comes to defeat him."

Daenerys's eyes narrow. She turns to Melisandre and Bran, who bow before making their way out of the room. When they're gone, she turns back to me.

"You're suggesting another alliance with Cersei."

I shake my head.

"No, Your Grace. My sister has already betrayed us. I'm merely suggesting we act quickly. You must take King's Landing. It is the only way."

"And you think Cersei will surrender?"

"I know my sister," I say. "Far more than either of my brothers, though I'm sure they'd disagree. She would rather see the city burn than give up the throne. There is no saving her. There will be no peace as long as she remains queen."

Daenerys considers my words carefully before responding.

"The city will be taken," she says. "And we will deal with the final threat when it is done."

I hesitate before my next words.

"You will be a far better ruler than Cersei," I say. "But not if you become like her."

Her eyebrows furrow.

"If you burn the city," I continue. "If you burn thousands of innocents to the ground... you will only be confirming the fears of those who don't know your true heart."

"If I burn the city," she says coolly. "The blood will be on Cersei's hands. It was her who doomed her people's fate."

"That may be true," I reply. "But that is not the world you want to create during your rule, is it? You've always desired to break the wheel, to free those who deserve it. To be fierce, but kind. The people here may not love you, or even trust you, but they surely will not if you slaughter the innocent."

"Then if not love, let it be fear."

I raise my hands.

"There are tunnels all throughout King's Landing," I say. "Attack from within. Take the kingdom and spare as many lives as you can. Show the people that you are a ruler worth following. Show the ones who don't approve of you that they're _wrong_."

The words echo something Jaime said to me after my return to King's Landing. I feel a strange nostalgic pull at the memory.

Daenerys looks conflicted, but not quite convinced. Finally, her eyes narrow.

"You've seen more, haven't you? More than you've told."

"I've seen many things, Your Grace."

"You've seen my end."

"I've seen _one_ end," I reply. "And the outcome can be changed. I just hope you will choose peace, for the sake of the one you love most."

"And who is that, Lady Lysandra?"

I step forward and take her hands gingerly.

"Your child."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The armies will march on King's Landing soon... and blood and ashes will follow.


	28. One Final Enemy

I hear Jaime and Tyrion arguing with the Hound in a room in the far corner; mainly confusion rather than anger. I can hear Leander's firm voice trying to settle everyone down.

I slowly make my way into the room, careful not to alarm my brothers more than they will be. Tyrion sees me first, and at the bewilderment on his face, Jaime and Leander turn from the Hound and towards me.

No one moves. Their eyes are wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief. But there's something else in their gaze.

Overwhelming relief.

Jaime takes the first step towards me, hesitant that in his movement I'll disappear. The ash still rests on my skin. My spilled blood has been cleaned but the wounds remain, present but healed. Dried blood undoubtedly rests against the roots of my blonde hair. I must look like an ashen ghost. A lost soul of the living.

He slowly moves towards me, drinking in my appearance with his eyes.

"The Lord of Light," I start, but I'm unable to find what I want to say. "I'm... okay."

Jaime gently takes my face in his hands, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. Tears form in his eyes as he studies my features.

"You're alive," he whispers, more of a question than a statement.

"I'm alive."

He fights back the emotion, willing himself to speak.

"You're here."

"I'm here," I say.

Silent tears fall freely as Jaime pulls me into his strong embrace. I want to cry but I just feel numb. I hold him close to me for as long as the two of us need. Finally, Jaime clears his throat and steps away, his hands lingering on my arms a bit before letting go entirely. Tyrion is by my side in an instant, tears welling in his eyes; he stumbles a little in his drunken stupor and I kneel down so he can throw his arms around me.

"Tell me this isn't the wine," he says, choking on his words.

A smile into his shoulder.

"It's not the wine," I whisper. "I promise."

I lock eyes with Leander who looks as if he's seeing a hallucination. Jaime puts a steady hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. When Tyrion releases me, I walk over to Leander and take his hands.

"I know this is hard to believe," I say, looking at each of them. "And I promise I'll explain everything."

Leander shakes his head in disbelief and pulls me close.

"All that matters... is that you're here," he says.

"I'm so glad you're all okay," I say when he takes a step back. "I don't know what I would do if..."

I trail off, realizing what my death must have put them all through.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," I say. "I saw... flashes of what happened after I... I'm just so sorry."

"No," Jaime says with a shake of his head. "Don't apologize."

"Absolutely not," Tyrion agrees. "And your son is right. What matters is that you're alright. You're here with us. Now, you need to go clean up and then we'll get some wine in you. And I won't accept 'no' as an answer."

I smile and nod.

"Okay," I say. "But please... don't say anything about this until I get back. I don't want to ambush everyone."

"Of course," Leander says.

Jaime nods, then the two of us look at Tyrion.

"What?" he says. Then he sighs. "Do you two have so little faith in my ability to keep a secret?"

"Yes," we say in unison. Even Leander joins in. Tyrion scoffs.

I start to walk away but Jaime gently takes my arm. The look in his eyes is soft, but there's fear behind them.

"You'll come find us, won't you?" he asks.

I take his hand and give it a squeeze.

"I promise," I say. "I'm not going anywhere."

***

Even though the lighting is comforting, the halls of Winterfell seem much darker than I remember. The air has a chill, despite the warm atmosphere of the victory still lingering. There are cheers and drinking all around as Arya takes me to my old room to get cleaned up. A bath is drawn and I wash the blood off my skin and out of my hair. The ashes flake off and float alongside me.

I examine my wounds, closed but still fresh all over my skin. I run my hand over the worst of them... the large and warped scar from the Night King. It's the only one that still burns when I run my hand over it. I'm not sure if it'll ever feel normal, at least not until the Night King is truly defeated. It's like I'm lost in a trance as I examine it. From that wound, to the seared handprint, to the other scars from my past. It's like my skin is no longer my own; like it's part of the darkness in my past and nothing more.

Arya knocks on the door just to make sure everything is okay, and I call back to her in assurance. The water is getting cold anyway so I dry myself off and slip into something more comfortable. Something less armor-like and more leisure wear. I'm sure I'll be back in my usual armor in no time. I know I shouldn't be in the mood to rush it, but part of me just feels like it's the only thing I know how to do anymore. How to fight, defend, move from point A to point B.

I join Arya in the hall and I can tell she's trying not to look at me like I just rose from the dead. She avoids eye contact, but not too much to make me feel uncomfortable. We start to walk but then I stop her.

"I know you heard what I said about the Night King," I say. "But you need to know, that what you did mattered. You saved so many people, Arya. And I know you're not the type to take a compliment or bask in the glory or anything, but I just needed you to know that it mattered."

After a moment, she shrugs.

"I bought us some more time," she says.

"You saved Bran."

"So did you."

"Only one of us died though, as far as I can remember."

To my surprise, Arya laughs.

"Morbid," she says.

"Fitting," I reply.

There's another pause before she speaks again.

"I'm glad you're alive, Lys," she says. "Now, go find my brother."

She gives me a knowing look before starting down the hallway.

"Arya."

She turns to look at me.

"You've become family to me," I say. "I hope you know that."

With nothing more than slight hesitation and a quirk in the corner of her mouth, she nods in the direction of the hallway.

"Celebration's that way," she says.

***

I don't mean to walk in, but I just see him and I can't help myself. Robb is talking to Jon at the head table. He has the ghost of a smile on his face as Tormund teases Jon about something I can't quite make out. His hand is resting on the table, leaning most of his weight against it as he hones in on the conversation. He looks tired in more ways than one. His hair is a bit disheveled in a way that makes my heart flutter a bit in my chest. I barely pay attention to Arya walking close behind me.

Everything seems to move slowly as I make my way into the Great Hall. Being in Robb's arms flashes in my mind. It seems like it happened so long ago. The vows I said to him... the way he tried to comfort me as my blood spilt on the snow... His touch, his words; I remember it all.

Jon is the first one to take notice. His face drops from the smile to a blank face of shock and awe, closely followed by Tormund who sloshes his drink all over the floor. Jon rises slowly from his seat and rests his hand briefly on Robb's arm. Robb looks up too, as well as other people who have started to recognize me. The room begins to quiet and I can't force myself to walk any further. Robb's vibrant blue eyes hold me captive to my place.

"How?" Tormund asks, his mouth still agape.

When I don't answer right away, Arya steps forward and places a hand on my arm.

"The Lord of Light," she says, somewhat skeptically. "Come on, it's not the first resurrection we've had."

She gives both of her brothers a look, trying to lighten the heavy mood just a little. Jon seems to shake himself from his stupor and immediately walks around the table. He weaves through a few stunned faces and embraces me. His arms wrap tightly around me and he lets out a short laugh of disbelief.

"I think you're crushing me," I say in his ear.

Jon laughs wholeheartedly this time, releasing me and squeezing my arms.

"I'm glad you're here, Lannister," he says.

"You too, Snow."

Then Daenerys's voice rings out among the awestruck crowd. Her goblet is raised and her expression is poised. She's careful not to hold any emotion on her face but pride. Her eyes lock on mine. A knowing look passes between us.

"This woman gave her life for Winterfell," she says to the room. "She has shown strength and resilience in every action she has made. Westeros is lucky to have such a courageous woman return to it for the next steps towards a better future. Here's to Lysandra Lannister, a hero of Winterfell."

Everyone, still a bit shaken, takes their goblets and raises them high, repeating: "Lysandra Lannister, a hero of Winterfell!"

Everyone... but Robb.

He's able to gather himself a bit, but instead of raising a glass; he continues to stare at me. Then, as the cheers continue and celebration begins to kick back into a feeling of normalcy. Tormund crushes me in a hug, followed by Gendry who gives me a firm handshake. I see Jorah next and my heart practically soars with relief at the sight of him. I was sure he would perish in the battle and I'm so thankful to have been wrong.

But as Jorah begins to approach, I see Robb shift his gaze and disappear through the nearest exit. I want to follow him but I can't bring myself to do it. If he's leaving, it's because he doesn't want to be followed. I just wish I knew if it was anger or just confusion. I want to hold him again, to feel his touch.

Jon follows my gaze.

"He just needs time," he tells me. "You know how he feels about you."

I nod, not completely believing the truth behind his kind words. I look at Daenerys again and then to Jon.

"You need to go talk to her," I say, nodding to the queen. When Jon gives me a look, I follow with, "trust me."

Before Jon can question me further, Jorah approaches me and immediately takes my hand. He places a gentle kiss to it.

"My apologies, I know you're being overwhelmed with-"

I cut him off with my arms wrapping around him tightly.

"I'm glad you're alright, Ser Jorah."

After a moment, he hugs me back.

"We thought we lost you," he says, his hold tightening for a moment before letting go.

"Yeah. Well, I'm stubborn," I reply with a weak smirk.

He looks into my eyes for a moment too long.

"Thank the gods for that," he says.

***

I sit with Jaime, Brienne, Tyrion, Leander, and Podrick at a table in the corner of the Great Hall. It's away from prying eyes and I can just focus on whatever is in front of me; instead of what I have to do once the celebration ends. Tyrion pours me drink after drink. He's completely thrilled that I've finally agreed to have a drink or twelve. We laugh and play drinking games; things we did together back when things were less... complicated.

All the while I keep looking off to the corners of the room, hoping to see Robb waiting for me. Jon said to give him some time. I know he's probably right and I have to respect that. On the other hand, I feel almost like I'm betraying Robb if I don't seek him out. Regardless, I try to focus on the now. I focus on the smile on my son's face. The way Jaime laughs like he's surprised to find something so amusing. The way Tyrion raises his eyebrow when he knows he's right. I take it all in, because I know there's a chance I won't be able to for much longer.

"The way you ran from those wights," Leander says to me, shaking his head. "I've never seen someone move that fast."

"I wish I could've seen that!" Tyrion laughs, sloshing wine on his chin.

"I'm glad I didn't," Jaime says, shooting me a 'you should know better' look.

"She saved us," Leander says. Then he looks at me. "We wouldn't have gotten out of there if it wasn't for you."

I wave him off and take another drink.

"We all played a part in the victory," I remind him. "We worked together. That's why we made it through."

"Well put, Lady Lysandra," Brienne says.

"Ah," Tyrion says. "A hero and modest."

I roll my eyes. "Jaime must have forgotten to tell you about his heroic rescue." I give Jaime a look. "I was cornered, and there he was with the archers."

"Brother!" Tyrion exclaims, hitting his arm. "Here my siblings were saving the world and I was locked in a Crypt."

"Don't do that to yourself," I say. "We were all exactly where we needed to be."

"And where do you need to be?" Tyrion asks.

I furrow my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

He leans in conspiratorially. "Where's the Young Wolf?"

Everyone at the table exchanges subtle looks as I glare at Tyrion.

"Leave it alone, Tyrion," Jaime warns.

I stand up, draining what's left of my drink.

"I'm going to head to bed," I say.

Jaime glares at Tyrion who immediately begins apologizing. I raise a hand to him, smiling at the rest of my friends.

"It's not that, I promise. I've... had a long day."

More exchanged looks before they all nod and say their goodnights.

"You're sure you're alright?" Jaime asks.

I nod. "I just need some rest."

I wave goodbye and head towards my room. I exchange a few pleasantries on my way but I'm otherwise left alone. The fire in my room is lit and crackling, leaving the room with a pleasant warmth. I strip down to nothing but nightwear and my bare feet welcome the fur of the rugs near my bed. I rest my hands on the blankets and close my eyes as I take in the comfort of a freshly made bed; a luxury I didn't think I'd have again.

I start having flashbacks of the battle. The sight of Jon and Robb fighting side by side, the adrenaline of feeling the wights chasing me through the halls, the impact of jumping out the window, the spear piercing through my stomach... I try to shake it off but the images are still so clear in my mind. I can't put the Night King's cold dead eyes from my mind.

A scratching at my door makes me jump from my daze, but I immediately know who it is and don't waste a moment. I open the door and Grey Wind comes in. He starts whining and nuzzling me and soon as he comes into contact with me. I smile and scratch behind his ears.

"I'm glad you're okay, too," I say. "Thanks for protecting me, buddy."

"He's good at that," a familiar voice says.

I jerk my gaze up, surprised I allowed myself to get distracted enough to overlook someone else outside my room. My heart nearly stops when I see it's Robb. Only he doesn't look anything like how he looked when he saw my return. His jaw is clenched. He looks... angry. But the anger doesn't match his eyes.

"Robb," I say.

The very sound of his name on my lips makes his features soften a little.

"I can't believe it's you," he says, almost breathless.

He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my face. His eyes trail along my clothes and I realize how vulnerable I feel. He whistles for Grey Wind to head back to his room. The direwolf doesn't seem happy about it, but he retreats nonetheless.

A moment of silence passes between us as we look everywhere but at each other.

"I'm so sorry, Robb," I finally say. "To put you through that. I know you've been through so much-"

"Don't do that," he says. "I don't want your pity."

I furrow my eyebrows.

"What? I don't... I don't pity you. I just... I'm sorry I hurt you. You have to know that I didn't want to leave you."

"But you did," he snaps.

His tone startles me. Sure, I expected some confusion and some disbelief, but not anger. I'm not even sure how to respond to him, but he keeps going before I have a chance to.

"Lysandra, you died in my arms," he says as if I need reminding. "My heart died with you. That's how much power you have over me. Up until you walked through that door... I didn't even know who I was anymore. And now you're here, you're alive, and I know you're just going to leave me again."

"What are you talking about?" My voice grows louder. " _Power_ over you? You think you have no power over me? You're the only one who can make me forget the nightmares. Forget that I don't know what the future holds. Forget that my life hasn't been my own since I was an infant. And I didn't want to leave you. I didn't. But you know what? In the end, when I was lying there _bleeding,_ I was glad it was me and not you. And I won't apologize for that."

"But you'll leave again," Robb says. "It's what you do. You're planning on it, aren't you? You plan on going to King's Landing and risking your life for an age old vendetta against your sister. You don't care who you leave behind to mourn you."

My fingers curl into my palms, digging my nails deep into my skin. The words hurt so much because despite the overreaction, part of what he is saying is true. Leaving is what I've been doing most of my life. Some were due to the circumstances of others, but I feel as if I've always been running.

"I've never had a choice," I say coldly, staring him down. "Get out."

I wait for him to move out of the doorway but he doesn't. Instead, he just stands there staring at me. It's even more infuriating than his senseless words. I take a step forward, not backing down either.

"You have no right to speak to me this way," I say. "I know you were resurrected, and you've been through a lot, but you have no idea what I felt when I died. The things I've seen... the things I'm forever burdened with. The only comfort I had in that moment was you. The kindness in your eyes... the way you held me."

I trail off, unable to continue; unable to look at him any longer. I run a hand through my hair.

"Just get out, Robb."

I hate how broken my voice sounds, how soft and fragile it is. When Robb doesn't move, I snap. I shove him; the ferocity from the battle slowly coursing back into my veins. He looks stunned for a moment but regains his composure quickly. He grabs my wrists when I go to shove him again. I don't try to outmaneuver his hold. I'm too mentally drained to care much. I tell him to leave over and over again but he just holds me until I finally push him off.

I wipe away the angry and hurt tears that have formed and turn away from him. I walk towards my bed to gather myself.

"You always push people away, Lysandra," Robb says. "You pushed me away until there was nothing but loss left for us. Until you were sure you might lose me."

I whirl on him. "So what? You get to treat me this way because I _left_ you? I _died_ , Robb."

"I know!" He runs his hands through his hair, eyes wild. "Look, I'm just... I can't lose you. You died in my arms and then here you are... damn it, I'm afraid, alright?"

"So am I!" I shout. "But you don't get to take it out on me!"

I don't realize how close Robb has gotten to me until he takes my face in his hands. He looks worn, pained. His blue eyes are brighter with unshed tears. The very sight breaks my heart.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I couldn't save you. I'm sorry."

He looks down, unable to look in my eyes any longer with the shame. And that's when it hits me. The anger, the outbursts. The distance. He blames himself.

"Robb." I gently bring his face up to mine. "Stop." I brush my fingers against his cheek. "I'm here."

He looks at me again. His eyes linger on my lips. He leans down and I expect him to kiss me but his lips move to my neck. I sigh into him, my hands tangling in his messy hair.

"I love you," he whispers against my skin.

I let out a shuddering breath at his words, closing my eyes. A waiting tear falls down my cheek. He kisses my neck gently, using a hand to caress my neck.

I'm folded into his body in a matter of seconds. His touch against my bare skin sends fire through me. A sensation so pure and loving that I haven't felt for such a long time. All it takes is his lips on me and I can no longer surrender. I don't know where our bodies begin or end, or when we find ourselves wrapped between blankets and sheets. Our names on each other's lips and the crackling of the fire are the only sounds we hear late into the night.

***

The next few days pass by slowly, which I'm both grateful for and haunted by. Being with Robb is like being one with the night sky. It's beautiful and comforting. It just feels natural and right. I don't get to see him much; at least in the way I want to. We're busy planning for the next steps of the march on King's Landing; the only time we are able to see one another other than dinner and afterwards. I've been staying in Robb and Grey Wind's room. Being so close to him keeps the nightmares away, and the painful visions during the day are lessened when he's near.

Training has been a decent way to keep my mind off of what's ahead. I've mainly been training with Arya and Jon. Robb and Leander have been working closely with Grey Worm to prepare for the next battle. With Tyrion's direction, the plan is to infiltrate King's Landing through the secret tunnels that run throughout the city. Those who are involved are to leave within a few days' time. Most of us have recovered and the few who haven't are well enough to travel.

I'm alone in the courtyard one morning. I'm not really sure what made me come here at first, but then I see the window I crashed out of in the distance. It's been boarded over and probably won't be fixed for some time. The cold in the air is more bitter in the early morning. The sun has risen but has not yet reached high in the sky. The clouds are thin and beautiful, covering the blues and pinks of the sunrise.

I sense Jon before I see him. He stands next to me, following my gaze.

"It's difficult not to think about it," he says.

"The battle?" I ask, glancing at him.

"Yes," he says. "But I was talking about dying."

I look at him fully now. His dark grey eyes look lost, but kind when he looks into mine. Strands of his jet black hair brush against his face in the wind.

"I take it you saw a lot more than I did," he says.

I nod, rubbing my arms against the chill.

"Too much," I reply.

"Have you talked about it at all?"

I shrug. "A little. Robb has really helped but..."

"But some things only you can understand."

"Exactly."

There's a pause as we let the notion sink it. Jon angles himself so he's facing me entirely.

"I know you're burdened with a lot," he says. "But you're strong. Just don't forget that this new life is still yours. You don't owe anyone anything."

"Is that what you thought when you were brought back?" I ask. "That your life wasn't your own anymore?"

Jon sighs, smiling a little. "A bit."

I nod. "It's not so easy to talk about, is it?"

He chuckles. "No."

"I appreciate it. You being there for me."

"Anytime." He nods behind me. "You've got company."

I turn to see Theon and Sansa approaching us, but keeping their distance. I glance at Jon.

"How do you know they're here to see me?"

"Theon has been avoiding you since your return," he says. "Knowing Sansa, she probably dragged him here. We'll talk later."

I nod and he begins to walk away.

"Jon." He turns to look at me. "Congratulations."

Recognition comes across his face after a moment of confusion. The corner of his mouth curves up just a little and he nods. Then he continues to walk away, greeting Sansa and Theon as he passes them. I'm not sure who else knows about the child yet other than Daenerys's close confidants. Daenerys told Jon the night I told her, but I'm not sure he's entirely processed the news yet.

Sansa hugs me as soon as they approach.

"I'm still not used to seeing you," she says, careful to hide any emotion she's feeling.

I smile. "Sorry for the scare, Lady Stark."

She looks between me and Theon who looks at me with a cautious gaze. She pats his arm and addresses me.

"I have some matters to discuss with Lord Royce," she says politely.

She bids us both farewell, promising to find me later, before scurrying off.

"Theon," I say. "It's good to see you."

"You as well, Lady Lysandra. I'm sorry it took me so long to..."

I shake my head. "There's no need for apologies."

"But there is," he says, casting his eyes to the ground for a moment. "You saved my life and protected Bran. My gratitude is far overdue."

"I don't regret anything," I promise. "Sansa will need you for whatever comes next. And if you choose to join the march on King's Landing, you will be a worthy asset. And... Robb will need you too. Even if he isn't ready to admit that yet."

He nods, then shakes his head.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you."

I consider this and a saddened thought that has been lingering comes to mind again.

"Can I trust you with a favor?" I ask.

"Name it, my lady."

"It requires discretion until the time is right."

Theon nods. "Of course."

I reach into my pocket and pull out a letter I wrote a few nights ago.

***

That night, I lie awake on Robb's bare chest contemplating what must be done. I carefully lift myself from his embrace and ease myself off of the bed. I quickly slip on my nightwear and retrieve a few of my belongings. Grey Wind stirs in front of the fireplace and I touch his soft fur with tears in my eyes. He looks at me expectantly, as if he too understands.

"I'm afraid this is goodbye," I whisper, stroking his fur. "I know you'll take good care of him."

The direwolf whines a little and I kiss his head. The floor underneath my feet is cold as I quietly exit the room, shutting the door behind me. I head down to my bedroom where my pack and clothes are already waiting for me. I slip on my thin but warm outerwear and armor that will make it easy to travel, slipping my weapons into their designated places. It hasn't been as cold as of late, and I'm sure it has to do with the Night King's absence.

I take one last look around the room and wipe a tear from my face. When I close the door behind me, I'm stopped short by the sight of Tyrion only a few feet away from me. We stare at each other for a moment, confusion slowly fading from his features.

"You're leaving," he says, unsure what else to say.

I can't help but think of all that has happened between us over the years. The departures, the reunions. And as much as I want to go to him, as much as I want to say so many things to him; I just can't bring myself to do it.

"You'll look after Leander, won't you?"

I disappear into the darkness before Tyrion has a chance to respond.

I leave the stables with Fidelis at the ready, thanking the gods that he survived the latest battle. He whinnies in approval when I prepare him for the journey. Torches are lit but dying outside of Winterfell, and the night has a sharp chill in the air.

"You were always poor with goodbyes."

I turn to see Jaime dressed and leading a horse of his own in my direction.

My eyebrows furrow, but he speaks before I can ask.

"You think I don't know my own sister?" Jaime raises an eyebrow. "You've been acting strange ever since your return. Did you think I was going to allow you to do this alone?"

"But what about Brienne? Your chance to start over?" I remind him. "Cersei has taken enough from you, brother."

His cocky grin wavers as he mulls over my words. He looks out into the darkness, looking for some unseen answer that will never surface.

"You don't plan on coming back, do you?" I say.

"Do you?" he asks, looking at me.

I smile sadly at him.

"This doesn't have to be your end, Jaime."

He tightens the straps on his horse before looking at me again.

"All those times you said I didn't choose you..." he hesitates. "You were right, Little Shadow. I'm not making that mistake again."

I nod. "It'll be different once you see her and you know it."

"Perhaps."

"And Brienne-"

"Is better off without me."

"But you love her."

Jaime's eyes glisten with sadness.

"It's better this way," he whispers mostly to himself.

And that's when I realize I'm not the only one who has to do this. Jaime does too. If this is it, and least we'll be taking that journey together.

"I have to try to stop this before it begins," I say. "Before more lives are lost."

He nods. "He'll forgive you."

We share a look, unspoken words surrounding us in the dark. Robb lingers in my mind; the happiness we've found, the happiness I'm leaving behind. Finally, I mount my horse and Jaime does the same.

"You're sure you want to do this?" I ask, giving him a look.

"It's time to become one with the shadows," he says with that familiar smirk. "Isn't that what they call you now? The Shadow?"

I smile at him. "It's grown on me."

And with empty promises and regret lingering behind us, I ride off with my brother into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated. :)


	29. The Long Farewell

**The Journey**

The nights have grown longer for the people of Winterfell. Robb Stark sits in front of a fire far from his home, mulling over the last meeting in his mind. The march for King's Landing has been long, but the journey is not nearly as long as he wishes it would be. As long as he's wished to see Cersei's demise, it's what else awaits him in King's Landing that unsettles him. It's been over a week since Lysandra left him in the night. Over a week since Theon gave him the letter far earlier than he was supposed to.

"Lysandra wanted me to wait until after the battle," Theon said. "But something tells me, you're going to want to read this."

There was a pause between them as Robb contemplated what Theon held in his hand. It was battered and soft, but neat and well folded. It had his name written on it in gentle lettering. He didn't need Theon to tell him who it was from.

Now, Robb pulls the sealed letter from his pocket. He turns it over a few times in his hands. As painful as the thought is, he considers tossing it into the fire. Surely the words won't matter if he arrives to the city to find Lysandra dead... or perhaps that is why it will matter the most.

He makes eye contact with Theon near a tent in the distance. Theon sees the letter in Robb's hands and gives him a subtle nod before disappearing from view. Robb sighs and opens the letter carefully before he can change his mind.

_Robb,_

_I know what you must think of me now, and I don't blame you. The truth is, you were right. This hatred I carry for Cersei will always hang over me the longer I allow it to fester. This feud I carry with my sister must end, and I must be the one to end it. I've seen many ends to this battle, and if Queen Daenerys falls down the wrong path, many lives will be lost along with freedom as we know it. I have faith in our queen, but you must always be on your guard. The Night King will rise again and we need everyone we can gather. My blood is the key to his defeat. I left some of my blood with the Red Woman in case my life is lost in the battle. She and Gendry will form a weapon to ensure the Night King's defeat._

_I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye. I knew you would stop me, and this is my own battle to fight. My battle to end. I only hope that I'm not too late to stop this before it begins. I wish we could have been more, and I pray to whatever gods that may be that this is not the end of our journey together._

_Know that I love you, Robb._

_Yours,_

_Lysandra_

Robb stares at the words for longer than he intends. It's the first time she's told him she loves him, and now he may never be able to hear her speak the words aloud. He may never see the smile that brings him comfort or experience the rare laugh that fills his heart. Carefully, he folds up the letter and places it in a secure place near his heart.

**Harrenhal**

**_Almost a fortnight later_ **

Targaryen troops, Unsullied, and other allies alike gather in and around tents and brightly lit fires. Tyrion Lannister sits alone in front of the fire, pondering the whereabouts of his lost siblings. When he's not assisting the queen or carrying out orders, he finds himself keeping mostly to himself with fewer witty remarks than usual. On this particular night, so close to the siege of King's Landing, he allows his gaze to become lost in the flames.

Leander Stone sighs, taking a seat next to his newfound uncle. He clasps his shoulder before letting it fall to his side.

"And where are your thoughts, Lord Tyrion?"

Tyrion sighs, sitting up from his slump.

"The same place yours have been, I'm sure."

Leander smiles sadly.

"We'll see them again," he says.

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself, nephew?"

"Perhaps both."

A moment of silence passes between them.

"Has the queen spoken of what she's to do with King's Landing?" Leander asks. "With Cersei?"

"You mean the murderous aunt you've acquired?" Tyrion asks with a raised eyebrow. He tosses a twig into the fire. "Queen Daenerys has agreed to spare the people of King's Landing, and Cersei as well if she surrenders. If not... well, I'm afraid nothing will be able to save her. Not even my brother."

"And Lysandra?"

Tyrion turns to him. "What about her?"

"You know as well as I why she left before the troops."

"Do I?"

"She intends to murder your sister, does she not?"

Tyrion grimaces and Leander hands him a cup of wine he's been holding. Tyrion takes it and drinks instead of answering.

"You're afraid she'll do it," Leander says.

"No, I'm afraid she won't." Tyrion casts him an exhausted look. "Lysandra is an entirely different person from when I knew her long ago, yes. But she is still the sister I know and care for. If she hesitates, Cersei will not be forgiving. She has never been one to show mercy, even to her family."

"That's not the only thing you fear, is it?" Leander asks. "Given the choice between Lysandra and Cersei, you're afraid Jaime will pick Cersei as he has before."

Tyrion drains the rest of his wine. "You talk too much."

"Ser Leander, Lord Tyrion." Ser Jorah approaches the two. "You're needed in the command tent. The final movements are to happen soon."

Leander begins to follow Jorah when Tyrion calls to him. He waits as his uncle rises to his feet, tossing the cup aside.

"I made an oath to your mother that I'd look after you," Tyrion tells him. "Don't do anything foolish when the battle arrives."

Leander nods, smiling a little and inclining his head.

"You have my word, uncle."

After he leaves, Tyrion pulls the familiar piece of paper from his vest. The same note Lysandra left for him years before in Pentos. He sighs and tucks it back into safety.

"You fools better return to me," he whispers to himself.

Then he starts off towards the command tent.

~

Queen Daenerys sits with Missandei alone in her tent. Missandei comforts her by braiding and unbraiding her hair. She is one of the few people Daenerys has told about the pregnancy. The others being Jon, Tyrion, Jorah, and Grey Worm.

"Have you thought of a name?" Missandei asks her friend.

Daenerys shakes her head, a frown set into her features.

"Your child will be strong and beautiful," Missandei says. "Just like their mother."

Daenerys rests a hand on her stomach. Visions of the past come into her mind. Thoughts of Drogo and their lost family... how much she's wanted a child since but been too frightened to wish for it again. It was supposed to be impossible, and yet the gods have given her a child. Should anything happen to it... she can't bear the thought.

Jon appears, carefully brushing the flap of the tent aside. A small smile rests on his face as he looks from Missandei to Daenerys. He bows at the sight of her presence.

"My queen," he says. "I'd hoped to have a word, if I may."

Daenerys nods to Missandei who smiles at the two of them and takes her leave. Jon walks over to where Daenerys is sitting on her bed and kneels before her.

"I know you're worried," he says gently. "But we will protect this child."

"From who?" she asks a bit too sharply. "Cersei? The Night King? The others who threaten my place on the throne?"

"Anyone who would show them harm. We will defeat them all."

She eyes him, looking for an inch of insincerity but finds none. He holds her gaze with a gentle strength; the gentle strength she has come to love him for.

"Cersei needs to fall," she tells him.

He nods. "And she will. But the people of King's Landing deserve the chance to live under a just ruler. They should not be punished for Cersei's sins."

Tears begin to form in the queen's eyes.

"I've been having dreams of the Iron Throne surrounded by ash and fire," she says, closing her eyes. "I didn't want to admit the fear I've been carrying... but then this was left with me."

She retrieves a worn letter from the side of her bed. It's clearly been folded and re-folded plenty of times, wearing out at the edges. Jon takes it from her, confusion etched on his face.

"It's a letter from Lysandra Lannister," she tells him, fighting back tears. "It confirms everything I've feared. This anger I've been carrying, the choices I've made... I fear I'm falling into the madness after all." She gasps sharply, wiping her eyes. "I don't want our child living in a world where their mother is the mad tyrant her father was."

Jon looks up from the letter and sets it aside. He takes Daenerys's hands in his.

"You are not your father, Dany," he says. "Our child will inherit your heart and your courage. Even the greatest rulers have made mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them and to lead the people the way they deserve to be led. There is no doubt in my mind of what kind of ruler you'll be, what ruler you already are. Believe in yourself, Dany. I do. There are so many that will follow you to the end and beyond."

Jon wipes the remaining tears from Daenerys's face and places a kiss on her cheek. She smiles and brings a hand to his cheek.

"How did I find you?" she whispers.

He turns his head and kisses her palm.

"I ask myself that question every day," he says. The two share a smile and Jon gestures to the letter. "This letter is a warning, yes. But Lysandra believes in you. She knows as well as I the strength you hold. You will overcome this, and those who fear you will come to love you. The world will change for the better and the wheel will be broken."

Daenerys nods, taking a steadying breath. She brings Jon's hand to her stomach and places her hand on top of his.

"You need to tell your family who you truly are," she says. "I know you've told Robb despite my request, but I cannot ask you to keep it a secret any longer. It was wrong of me... and we need to do what is best for our child."

Jon places a kiss to her stomach.

"We will."

**The Outskirts of King's Landing**

**Lysandra's POV**

"You're sure you want to do this?" Jaime asks.

"You don't have to come with me, brother."

I tighten the straps on my boots and make sure my weapons are locked into place. I look to the busy streets of King's Landing, taking it all in one last time. Ghosts of the past run beside us. I can still see myself as a child exploring the Street of Flour; a young but strong Jaime coming to fetch me before father lost his temper. This place was home for such a long time... and I know it will never be again.

The people are already in a panic before the battle has even begun. Cersei has let them through the gates, not to protect the people but to use them as a living shield. She's knows it's only a matter of time before the Targaryen army arrives. By the time morning breaks, the final war between queens will have begun; whether it ends in a bloodbath or not.

The sun is beginning to set over Blackwater Bay and it brings a sense of nostalgia over me. And then I think of how a part of me longs to be sailing among the Narrow Sea and beyond... the water has always brought me such peace. And now it reminds me of Robb and our time together.

Jaime follows my gaze and sighs. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"It's hard to think this is goodbye, isn't it?" he asks.

I nod. "It is."

"Do you think she'll burn the city?"

"If Daenerys doesn't, I'm sure Cersei will. I suppose, in a way, she already has."

"Perhaps the people should burn."

I turn to him. "You don't mean that."

"You don't know me as well as you think, Little Shadow."

"That may be true," I say. "But you sacrificed your reputation, even your life, to protect the people of this city once."

His head tilts to the side as he waits for me to continue.

"I've seen it," I tell him. "With this Sight I have. The true reason you killed the Mad King. The reason you're known as the Kingslayer. You didn't do it out of malice or misguidance. You did it to save thousands of lives."

Jaime hesitates before answering. The realization, the memory jarring him a bit. He shakes his head.

"I'm not a good man, Lysandra. I haven't been in a long time."

"We've all done terrible things, brother. It doesn't mean we can't ever change."

He shakes his head. "I've always known who Cersei was, and I've always chosen her. I've done so many dark deeds... for Cersei. She's the only one who has accepted that side of me. She's the only one who knows who I truly am at heart."

I step forward, placing my hand over his heart.

"That's not true," I say. "I know it's easier to punish yourself than to forgive yourself, but what Cersei has for you isn't love. Not in the way that others have shown you. Love means caring for someone and not needing anything in return. Love is accepting someone for who they are and wanting the very best for them. And you're wrong to think you aren't deserving of love or capable of it yourself. I hope that one day you'll see that, Jaime. And..." I glance over my shoulder towards the closely stacked buildings. "I forgive you for betraying me."

Jaime's eyes turn from soft to alarmed. He looks over my shoulder and then glances around us.

"I don't-"

"You sent a letter to Cersei," I say softly. "A warning. We've been followed since we stepped foot near the city."

A panicked look crosses his face and he places a strong hand over mine. For a moment, his eyes glisten with tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"It's alright," I say, and I mean it. "You've made your choice."

Jaime tries to say something else but it catches in his throat. All he can do is stare at me with that tortured look in his eyes. I had hoped that I could save him from Cersei, but I suppose his choice was made too long ago.

I step away from him, gently pulling my hand from his. I'm grateful that I let Fidelis run free before we reached the city. There's no telling what Cersei's followers would do to him if they had him in their grasp.

Within seconds, a group of soldiers surrounds us with weapons pointed directly at me. I consider the number of them and the chance I have to break free. I feel as though I could take them, or at least escape, but then I see the look on Jaime's face. He's broken, fighting back tears; and I just don't have the heart to try. If this is what he wants, so be it.

May the gods have mercy on us all.

***

When I awake from the blow, I'm in the dungeon of the Red Keep. The torches are dimly lit along the stone walls. My pack is gone, as are my weapons. And then I see her, standing directly within the doorway. Her short hair glows in the firelight and her crown glistens menacingly. The look of pure triumph on her face without even cracking a smile is astounding.

I sit up from my place on the floor, rubbing the back of my neck and cracking it. When she continues to stare at me, I shrug.

"It looks as though you've won, sister," I say. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Don't waste my time with flattery," she replies coolly. "I know you're aware of your queen's plans to take the city."

"On the contrary, I left in order to _stop_ this foolish battle before it could begin. It seems you've foiled my plan."

"To what?" She raises an eyebrow. "Kill me and take the glory for yourself?"

"I've never been one for glory," I say with a sigh. "I simply wanted the madness to end. And I know you're far too stubborn to stop it yourself."

"No foreign queen will sit on _my_ throne."

I lean forward. "There are two dragons and a mighty army coming for you. You've already lost. You're really willing to die in this shit city? You're willing to watch Jaime die? Your child?" When she hesitates, I continue. "At first light, ring the bells, Cersei. Ring the bells and escape. Alone, with Jaime, whatever you want. You already know it's over. Don't waste what time is left."

She stands there, as if considering my words carefully. She unclasps her hands from behind her back and rubs them together. Slowly, she makes her way forward until she's kneeling down in front of me. Her gaze is alarmingly kind.

"This will never be over, sister." Cersei reaches out and places a gentle hand on my neck. "Perhaps you're still too young to understand. Perhaps the world hasn't crushed you enough yet... but I still carry father's name with pride. The throne is mine... and your queen will perish just like those you have sworn to protect."

As she retracts her hand from my skin, I immediately sense the nausea fighting its way through me... I sense the poison.

She stands and extracts a small vial from her sleeve. She quickly drinks the entire thing and wipes her hands along her attire. A subtle smile comes across her lips as she studies my reaction.

"The long farewell," she says, tossing the vial to the side and watching it shatter. "The same poison they used to kill my Myrcella. I suppose it's poetic that her aunt dies in the same manner."

But despite the revelation, I can only focus on one thing. The answer I've been searching for through the Sight is unveiled by her touch. I smirk, shaking my head at the realization. Cersei's stare grows cold and impatient.

"You're not pregnant."

She straightens herself, stepping further away from me. Her face is stoic, yet victorious and proud.

"And you're going to die before the battle is over. But don't fret, I'm certain the Stark boy will soon follow you... if he hasn't abandoned you already."

Cersei begins to walk away, but hesitates in the doorway. She slightly turns back to me.

" _Farewell,_ sister."

And with that, she disappears into the dark hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What lies ahead for Lysandra and the fate of King's Landing?


	30. All Lions Must Fall

**The Red Keep**

Jaime and Cersei stand on the balcony of the Red Keep. The sun has risen, and they both know that battle will soon be upon them. Despite Cersei's talk of defeating the foreign queen and being grateful for Jaime's loyalty, Jaime can't quite shake the growing dread and guilt in his heart. Lysandra's words continue to echo in his mind.

"It will be over soon, Jaime," Cersei says, staring out at the city. "And when it is finally over, the Lannister name will be the only thing that matters in the Seven Kingdoms."

"And what of the others?" Jaime asks.

"What others? The ones who betrayed me?" Her familiar scowl returns. "They'll crawl on their hands and knees and beg for mercy. We will show them none."

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asks, moving into her view. "The dead may rise again, Cersei. And if they do, we will be far outnumbered. If you had seen-"

"And what are we to base that on?" she scoffs. "Lysandra's word that the Night King will rise again? It's a ghost story. Our sister is weak but she's not stupid. She knows how to spin tales and make everyone fawn over her words."

Jaime's jaw sets.

"Lysandra is far from weak," he says. "And you know that. You've allowed your hatred of her to cloud your judgement. Don't you see-"

"Do not speak of my judgement," she snaps. "You've always been the stupidest Lannister, Jaime. Never able to think for yourself, never listening to father's warnings about our enemies. It's a shock you've made it this far. Showing mercy to anyone who betrays us is a sign of weakness and nothing more. The Targaryen troops will fall, just as anyone else who has proved a threat."

As much as the words hurt Jaime, there's something that sticks with him more than the others. It's the way she talks about dealing with threats and betrayal.

"What of Lysandra?" he asks, his voice growing strained.

Cersei turns her chin a bit upwards, ignoring his worried gaze. She places her hands tightly on the bannister.

"Lysandra has made her bed," she replies. "The only one at fault is herself."

"What did you do?"

"The situation is handled, Jaime." When he doesn't reply, she continues. "Surely you remember whose side you chose." She turns to him, placing a hand on his face. "I love you, Jaime. You know that. No one else matters but the two of us, you said so yourself long ago."

She kisses him, barely noticing the way he pulls away just a touch sooner than usual.

"The three of us, you mean."

"What?"

"The baby," Jaime says. "Nothing matters but the three of us."

Cersei smiles, but it doesn't touch her eyes.

"Of course," she says. "The three of us."

**Lysandra's POV**

I don't know how long it will take for the poison to take effect, but I know I can't sit here as the battle rages on without me. I know the morning has come, though I cannot see it beyond this cell. I'm not shackled, but I also have nothing to pick the lock with. I'm stuck here, slowly growing weaker as the poison works its way through my system. A light sweat has fixed its way onto my skin which tells me I need to find a way out of here fast.

The walls around me begin to rumble and I can hear the shouts of those on the outside. I slam on the bars of the cell in frustration. A moment later, pieces of stone begin to crumble from the ceiling. I dodge the debris and brace myself along the wall as the ground begins to shake.

"I did not come all this way to die in this damn cell," I say through gritted teeth.

I begin running my fingers along the walls, searching for any weakness caused by the shudders of battle.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I turn to see Bronn standing outside my cell, a ring of keys in his hand. I let out a loud laugh at the sight of him and shake my head.

"Bronn!"

"That's my name, love."

He doesn't waste any time in unlocking the door and yanking it open. I hug him, surprising both him and myself. Then I jump away my him, my suspicious instincts kicking in.

"Relax," he says, studying me. "I'm not here to kill you."

" _Try_ to kill me, you mean," I say.

Bronn rolls his eyes and takes my arm, leading me down the hall.

"The fucking city is under attack by your queen," he says, sidestepping a falling stone as we hurry through the dungeons. "If I know your sister, she'll release wildfire any moment now. It's time to go."

"Wildfire? That shit is untamable! It'll kill everyone in its path, no matter if its friend or foe."

"Don't think she gives a fuck."

"I'm going to kill her."

"Leave that to your queen," Bronn says. "Just focus on getting out of here alive. I am."

He leads me through the tunnels that I've known fairly well since childhood. I pull away from his grip when I see the light leading into the city. He tries to grab me again but I continue towards the exact.

"Lysandra, wait!"

"No! I won't stand by and let others fight for me. That's the difference between you and I, Bronn."

Then a wave of pain causes me to clutch my hand. I squeeze my eyes shut and my knees buckle, causing me to collapse into the wall. Bronn is by my side in an instant to keep me steady. My vision comes in and out of focus for a few moments until it's clear once again. Bronn wipes the sweat from my forehead.

"No," he says quietly, examining my face. "Tell me this isn't what I think it is."

I meet his worried gaze and shake my head.

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"The bitch poisoned you, didn't she? I've seen this before. Poisoned with it myself in Dorne. There's a cure."

"It doesn't matter now, Bronn." I snap. "Who knows where the cure is, if Cersei even has more stashed somewhere. I don't know how much longer I have and I'm going to spend every moment making sure Cersei's reign ends."

"At this rate, you'll collapse on the battlefield!"

"Then so be it!"

Bronn runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Fuckin' Lannisters. Always with their damn pride."

He helps me up again and wipes more of the trickling sweat from my face. His blue eyes study me closely, the wary lines plaguing his face. He looks older than I remember, much older than he should look. I suppose that's what happens when you stay in King's Landing for too long.

"I'm not going with you," he says, but his eyes are kind.

"And I'm not going with you."

He shakes his head, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"There's no one like you, ya know," he says.

I smile, placing a hand on the side of his face.

"In your dreams," I say.

Bronn looks as if he's about to lean in but stops himself. He nods to the exit.

"Qyburn," he says. "If anyone has the cure, it's him. Find him."

"I'll try."

And with one last look, he leaves me against the wall. I watch him for only a moment longer before I push myself forward and run into the city. An explosion in the distance rocks the ground, causing me to stumble into one of the fleeing citizens. I look around frantically for any sign of Cersei or Jaime but I can't see anything from my angle.

Soldiers from both sides clash swords and wrestle among innocent civilians. A little girl screams for her parents as she wanders among the turmoil. I shield her from a Lannister soldier who attacks without taking in his surroundings. I'm able to use his slow reflexes against him; blinding him with a swift hit to the nose, then taking his sword with a kick to the groin. I incapacitate him easily from there and usher the girl out of harm's way. She's able to find her father and the two rush from view.

The sword is heavier than I'm used to, making me miss Lionheart immensely. I join the fight nonetheless, avoiding crumbling buildings and sidestepping swings from Lannister soldiers. I find myself defending myself against Targaryen and Unsullied troops as well, as I'm not wearing distinguishing colors or symbols. Though, my ferocity against the Lannister army is unquestionable.

An explosion of green fire erupts in the distance, disintegrating everything in its path. The tremor throws me to the ground but strong arms catch me before I hit. Relief floods through me when I see the first familiar face in the battle, Jon Snow.

"Lysandra!" he says, eyes wide. "Are you injured? Robb said-"

"Where's Daenerys?" My voice is frantic. "Where is she, Jon?"

"Calm down," he says, ducking from another explosion. "She's taken to evacuating as many civilians as possible on Drogon. She's ordered her troops to take the city with as few casualties as possible. The Unsullied already have the upper hand within the Red Keep. But if those bells don't ring..."

"More people are going to die," I say. I look towards the towers. "I'll take care of it."

"No, you need to get out of here before this city crumbles. There isn't much time left. Cersei can't be helped."

"I don't give a damn about Cersei!" I shout. "We need to save whoever we can. I need to find Jaime. I need to-"

"Lysandra, you can't-"

But I'm already running in the opposite direction, towards the Red Keep. If I can make it to the map room, maybe I can find Jaime before this all goes up in flames. I can find a way to get those bells to ring and save the remainder of civilians that will inevitably be caught in the crossfire. The wildfire has already become out of control, consuming everything in its path. Only evil could unleash something so horrid.

And that evil needs to die.

"Mother!"

The title is still lost on me but the voice I could never forget. I turn around to see Leander plunge a sword into a soldier's chest on his way to me. With my senses lowered, I had no idea how close I was to injury. Arya is close behind, taking down another solider that advances on Leander. When my son finally reaches me, he takes my arm and examines me.

"What's in the castle?" he asks urgently, taking in my direction.

"I have to find Jaime and end this with Cersei," I say.

Arya appears beside Leander.

"I'm right behind you," she says.

"The Iron Fleet has been burned," Leander tells me. "The barrier protecting the city has fallen. We have the upper hand." He looks to the turmoil around us. "But the war is far from over."

An idea dawns on me and I grab Arya's shoulders.

"I need you to do something for me," I say firmly.

"I have to-"

"I need you to ring the bells," I tell her. And she must sense the desperation in my words because she listens intently. "If those bells don't ring, more people will continue to die."

"Cersei needs to die," she says, glancing up at the large bells. "I'm going to make sure that happens."

"She's lost the war," I say. "She knows it. But she'll never surrender to spare her people."

"Lys-"

"It has to be you," I tell her. "You're faster than me."

"I can't-"

"I've been poisoned." I squeeze her arms, my voice growing wobbly. "I can't do it myself. Please, Arya. This is bigger than revenge."

Arya's face pales and I try to ignore the shock and fear registering on Leander's face. I keep my focus on Arya, pleading with her through a simple look. I know she wants to ask a million things. How I was poisoned, what kind of poison, is there a cure... but her eyes shift to the chaos and she finally nods.

"The bells will ring," she says. "I'll make sure of it."

I let go of her. "Go."

She doesn't hesitate a moment further, sprinting into the crowd.

Finally, I turn to Leander whose face has fallen.

"You need to go," I tell him, but he's already cutting me off.

"I'm not leaving you."

The look in his eyes is resolute, and I don't push the matter further. I place a hand on the side of his face.

"I'm proud to be your mother," I say. "I need you to know that."

All he can do is nod, words lost on his lips.

"Let's go," I say.

The two of us continue on towards the crumbling castle with hope in our hearts that the madness will end soon. Leander catches me when I lose my balance, saving us both from a falling column. The area is deserted as most of the fighting is occurring within the thick of the city. A few servants run past us and flee for any exit they can find. I manage to gain a little distance, leaving Leander a few steps behind but not too far.

"And if you find Cersei, what will you do?" he calls to me.

"I don't care about Cersei," I say over my shoulder, wiping sweat from my brow. "I care about Jaime. I won't let him die because of her."

A loud maniac shout erupts from behind me and I turn to see a man attack Leander from the side, sending them both crashing to the ground. The man is none other than Euron Greyjoy, bleeding from head to toe. His eyes are wide and bright with insanity. The two struggle and Leander is able to push him off with enough time to get back on his feet and draw his sword.

Rage boils through me at the sight of Euron and I immediately begin rushing towards the both of them. Within a few steps, I just barely catch a dagger that is aimed at my throat. Ellaria Sand wrestles with me, a look of anguish and fury in her eyes. My grip on her wrist is weakening as the poison sets in my blood. I use my free hand to grip her throat. Her hold on the dagger loosens slightly and I'm able to twist her away from me. I risk a glance over my shoulder and see Euron and Leander clashing swords violently. When I try to go to them again, Ellaria lunges at me.

The dagger slices up my arm in one quick flourish, causing me to drop the sword in my hand. I hear Leander call to me but Ellaria distracts me by brandishing another desperate attack.

"Your family killed mine!" she screams, taking another swing at me with her blade.

I catch the blade in my hand, blood pouring from my palm as I grip it tightly.

"Your arrogance killed your family."

I yank the blade from her and kick her hard in the stomach. She sprawls backward, shock and anger on her face. I run for her, knocking her to the ground as my anger fights through the effects of the poison. I hold her down despite her struggle.

"This is for Myrcella," I say.

I plunge the blade deep into her hollow heart.

Retracting the blade, I step back. I watch the blood seep into her clothing as she struggles to breathe. She'll be dead in a matter of seconds.

Then I feel a rush of dread consume me. My father's song plays faintly in my ears even over the chaos raging near. I know what's happened before I see it.

I turn to see Leander with a sword through his chest. Euron grins triumphantly through blood covered teeth. Leander's eyes focus only on me as the blood trickles from the side of his mouth. He sputters once before falling to his knees. Only then does Euron retract the sword from Leander's back.

My world goes numb as I watch the life fade from my only child's eyes. His hand reaches out to me for only a moment before he collapses lifeless on the ground.

I can feel the poison's effects more than ever before. The scream piercing my ears is my own. My own anguish projected into one sound. And then I see Euron standing over my son's body, laughing and wiping the blood on his clothing. I'm blinded by rage and grief. With a tortured yell, I throw the dagger. I watch it sail into his neck, his laughter forming into a sickening gurgle. His eyes go wide as he looks at me, but the smile never leaves his face. He stumbles a few steps... right into the path of a crumbling wall. Another moment, and he's buried under the turmoil of King's Landing.

I rush to Leander, no longer thinking of vows or revenge or mercy. I fall to his side as choked sobs escape my throat. I touch his face, willing him to come back to me. His eyes are still open but the familiar life in them has vanished. I close his eyes gently with my fingers. I lean into him and embrace him in the only way I can. I continue to cry, praying to whatever gods may hear me.

"Bring him back," I beg. "He has my blood. Spare his life and take mine!"

But no matter what I say, Leander still lies dead beneath my touch.

The castle crumbles around me but I no longer care. I no longer wish to see more days if my son cannot. The bells will ring, or they won't. King's Landing will burn to the ground, or it won't. It is no longer a concern of mine.

I cry and scream until my throat is raw. Suddenly, I feel someone tugging me away from my son. I struggle against the attacker, clawing at whatever I can, but I'm far too weak now to do much good.

"He's gone, Lysandra!" The voice shouts. "You need to get up!"

And then I realize it's Jaime pulling me away.

The ceiling around us is collapsing and Jaime finally is able to haul me to me feet. I slap him across the face and shove at his chest but he doesn't let me go. He practically cradles me against him, holding me in my misplaced rage and overwhelming grief.

"I know," he keeps saying. "I know."

And then he's guiding me from the room, leaving Leander's body behind.

Before I can comprehend anything, we're alone in the map room. It has also started to crumble, but less so than the remainder of the castle. The ground beneath us shakes and a few rocks crumble, but other than that it's relatively quiet within the walls.

Jaime releases me and points down a hallway that is still intact.

"This is the fastest way out," he says. "We don't have much time before the wildfire reaches the rest of us. The Red Keep will fall."

I can barely comprehend what he's saying. My head throbs with immense pain and the image of him before me becomes in and out of focus. When I don't reply, he turns back to look at me. His expression immediately pales.

"No," he says.

He's over to me in an instant, wiping the blood that has trickled from my nose. And then I realize this is what Jaime must have seen before Myrcella died in his arms.

"I'm sorry," I say. "It seems we're already out of time."

"No," he says again. He brushes the matted hair from my eyes. "I'm going to get the cure."

"There's no time."

But he ignores me and heads to another path different from the one he pointed to before. The one that leads to the underground tunnels. He tells me to take the fastest way out. He promises to meet me outside the castle walls when he can. I'm too tired to argue or to beg him to stay. I just feel numb... as if my soul is detached from my body.

"Jaime."

He turns to me.

"There isn't a baby," I say.

His face reveals nothing. Instead, he takes a steady breath.

"I know."

Then he's gone.

**The Red Keep**

Jaime finds Cersei where he left her, in the safety of the underground tunnels that run within the castle. The walls jostle but remain otherwise intact. The plan has been to escape upon Blackwater Bay before the castle is taken or destroyed. Cersei didn't anticipate the power of Daenerys and her army against her own. She didn't plan for these very same tunnels to be infiltrated by the Unsullied so quickly. They were barely able to stay hidden among the chaos. Now, all there is to do is be slaughtered or escape.

When Jaime reaches out to Cersei, she expects him to embrace her, perhaps kiss her. Instead, he seizes her by the arms and shakes her. His eyes are wild, sending a strange surge of fear through her she's never felt through Jaime. Her eyebrows furrow in immense confusion and she scolds him for the action.

"You poisoned her?" he says, his voice thick with emotion. "She's dying, Cersei!"

She pushes him off of her, glaring at him.

"Lysandra brought on her own fate," she snaps.

"She's our _sister-_ "

"She stopped being our sister the moment she pledged loyalty to the wolves!"

Jaime can hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth, and yet he can. He shakes his head.

"You need to give me the cure," he says, his voice stronger than before.

She smirks cruelly.

"You really are the stupidest Lannister."

"Cersei, this isn't a game."

"I don't have the cure, you fool." She looks away. "There was no need to carry any more."

He runs his hand through his hair and fights back the tears that continue to form. Cersei turns back and sees the emotion on his face. She approaches him gently, the harshness on her face melting slightly. She strokes his cheeks with her thumbs.

"We need to go, Jaime. We can start over; away from all the traitors. We can go somewhere, just the two of us." She kisses his lips. "We're the only ones that matter, remember? You've always had a choice. Make that choice again. I _love_ you, Jaime."

She takes him in her arms tightly, stroking his hair and whispering soothing nonsense into his ear. He visibly relaxes in her arms and places his cheek against her shoulder.

"I do love you, Cersei," Jaime says softly. "A part of me always will."

She doesn't see the dagger in his hand. With one swift motion, the blade stabs into her back, piercing her heart. She stiffens in his arms. She gasps for air.

"And you're right. I do have a choice."

He retracts the blade and moves her so that she's cradled in his arms. He lowers her to the ground. She begins coughing up blood, utter betrayal and hurt in her eyes. She tries to speak but is unable to do so. The tears forming in Jaime's eyes finally fall. The sob he's been holding in finally escapes as he watches his first love die at his very hands. The wildfire attacks the walls around them, but he no longer cares. And with Cersei dead, and Lysandra moments away from following suit; Jaime truly feels alone in the end.

The Kingslayer has become the Queenslayer.

**Lysandra POV**

Stumbling along, I attempt to follow down the same path Jaime has gone, despite his instruction. I only make it a few steps before I see that the tunnels have been completely buried by broken stone. I collapse against the wall behind me, both from grief and the poison. Tears flow down my face and every bone in my body wants to give up and succumb to the darkness.

First Leander, now Jaime. I feel broken. If death doesn't take me soon, I'm afraid I'll shatter all the same.

Then I imagine Jaime's voice inside my head. I can hear him telling me to get up, to keep fighting, to find a way to survive. I can hear Leander pleading for me survive. I'm not sure if it's the Sight giving me the chance to regain my strength or if I'm hallucinating. Still, I push myself off the wall and start in the direction Jaime directed me to.

I trip over stones and steps but manage to keep my footing. The ground beneath me buckles and the scene in front of me sways as my vision blurs permanently. More blood pours from my nose but I can barely feel it. My limbs are weakening with each passing moment.

I make it halfway down the steps near one of the exits when my heart drops. Rubble is piled high on the staircase. There's enough room to easily crawl through, but I know I won't be able to scale the debris. I'm nowhere near strong enough.

The world around me feels as if it's closing in and I sink down onto the steps. I curl onto my side, staring at my son's blood stained on my hands. It might be the haze that has fallen over me, but I can see the day he was born. I can see that crying, yet joyful bundle in my arms that rainy night. I can see him being carried off into the night.

The day that I saw him grown, when he offered his hand after I fell, I had no idea who he was. I should have. I should've known he was my son. But maybe it was for the best. Had I known, I would've had to leave him so soon. When I returned to Winterfell, I was in a different state of mind. The gods gave me the opportunity to get to know my son, and even though he was taken from me this day, I will always cherish the moments I had with him. Perhaps now, I will join him... wherever peaceful place he now rests in.

I picture myself among my family. I picture the life I could've had. I can see the faces of the ones I love flash before my eyes. Then I see Robb. He's touching my face, saying words I can't hear. It feels so real... and then my vision clears a bit.

Robb.

He's here. He's really here.

"By the gods," he says, checking me over. "Lysandra, can you stand?"

I manage a shake of my head.

"You're not alone, okay? I'm here. I'll carry you."

"How did you..."

"Jon told me where you might be." He eases me into his arms, cradling my head carefully. "I need you to hold onto me tightly, okay?"

"Leander... Jaime... they're all dead, Robb." My vision slips away again. "They're all dead."

"Shh. Hold onto me."

I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face into his chest. I feel so safe... so calm. I barely register him carrying me over the hill of stone, or the few times he nearly falls, or the daylight hitting me when we reach the outside. He tells me he loves me, that I do know. He tells me to stay awake; I fight to do so. He tells me not to lose faith; I keep my faith in him. He tells me he's taking me to the cure and kisses my damp forehead. My eyes begin to close when I hear a sound in the distance.

The bells. They're ringing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lannister reign has ended, and many lives have been lost. How will the Seven Kingdoms pick up the pieces and prepare for the looming threat ahead?
> 
> Thank you for all your support! Look for Chapter 31 on Friday, 7/24.


	31. Among the Ashes

When I can grasp onto reality again, I'm on the hard ground with Robb hovering over me. He tosses aside a small object; a vial. The image is blurry, but I know it's him. His blue eyes cover every inch of me, searching my face for any sign of further distress. He wipes what sweat he can from my face and makes sure no pieces of hair lay in my eyes.

I'm able to breathe more fully, but my limbs are still incredibly weak. My sense of touch returns to me and I can feel the blood begin to dry on my lips and under my nose. The pain from the wounds caused by Ellaria are heightened now, but I've survived far worse. And the deepest part of me knows there are some wounds, some scars, that will never be healed.

"It's alright," Robb says, stroking my hair. "I've got you."

Tears form in the corners of my eyes, slowly beginning to spill over. I'm too weak to fight them, too defeated to care.

"I lost them, Robb," I whisper. "I've lost them both. I failed."

"You did not fail," he says sternly, though his eyes are kind. "You did everything you could."

"How do you know?"

He smiles softly. "Because I know you."

He carefully raises me up and cradles me into his chest as I cry. I don't know how long we sit in that damaged part of the city until Robb speaks again.

"There's something else."

I look up at him and he wipes the fresh tears away.

"What is it?" I ask, the strength returning to my voice.

He hesitates.

"It's Sandor," he finally says. "The reason I have the cure, it's because of him. But he's..." He swallows. "He doesn't have long."

I don't have to ask him what he means, or any of the other questions I want to ask him. I only steel myself and nod.

"Take me to him."

***

Sandor sits with his back against one of the crumbled buildings closest to the Red Keep. Blood is soaked into every portion of clothing he has on. His face is barely recognizable, covered in gashes and blood and dirt. He's wearing that bitter grin on his face when we approach, shifting his body a little to see me better. It's then that I see his left arm has been crushed.

Robb helps me sit beside my old friend and, with a respectful nod to Sandor, leaves us and promises to not be too far away should I need him. I study Sandor's wounds and I know they're fatal, even with the help of multiple Maesters. He coughs, causing more blood to trickle from his mouth.

"You're alive," he says with a dry chuckle.

I place my hand carefully on his good arm.

"Thanks to you, it seems."

A moment of silence passes as we just look at each other, taking everything in.

"How did you know?" I ask.

"Arya," Sandor replies, wincing as he speaks. "She nearly barreled into me trying to get to those bells. Then... that shit Bronn... told me he was looking for the cure. Only reason why I didn't crush his skull when I saw him."

"You and Bronn, you were looking for the cure?"

He nods and spits blood into the dirt. He tells me him and Bronn went their separate ways during their search. That was before Sandor ran into his mutated brother along with Cersei and Qyburn. Cersei escaped, but Qyburn was not so lucky. The Mountain killed him with ease before advancing on Sandor. The two were in a brutal fight before Sandor was able to push Gregor over the side of the castle, into the wildfire below.

"I searched that fucking corpse," he says. "Found the vial on him. Wasn't sure if it was right but I managed to get the fuck out of that castle."

"And then Robb found you."

He nods again. When his eyes begin to close, I move closer to him.

"You know I love you, don't you?" I say, tentatively touching his chest. "You've always been a dear friend. Perhaps my oldest friend."

I press my lips tightly together as I try to hold myself together, but the tears fall anyway. I sniffle and take a sharp breath. He opens his eyes to look at me.

"Fuck off with the tears," he says.

I laugh despite the situation. The corner of Sandor's mouth quirks up in a weak smile. His good hand reaches a little bit towards me and I take it in mine.

"I'm sorry about your boy," he says.

I nod and more tears fall.

"Rest," I tell him. "I'll be here with you."

His blinks become slower until his eyelids finally rest. His breathing begins to slow.

"I do care for you," he says, just a little above a whisper.

I bring his hand up to my lips and kiss it.

"Thank you, Sandor." I close my eyes. "May the gods grant you peace."

It sounds as if he's about to say something else, but it fades.

I keep his hand in mine even after it goes limp. I send up a prayer, though I'm not sure what I believe in anymore. He fought until his last breath to make sure the cure got into my hands. He will forever be in my heart.

I lean against the wall and let the sorrow overwhelm me.

***

The Lannister soldiers have surrendered, as have the people of King's Landing. The news of Cersei's betrayal against her people has spread within hardly any time at all. Whispers of Queen Daenerys's kindness and mercy are evident in the city. She wastes no time in addressing them once the smoke finally clears. She tells friend and foe alike that the wheel has finally been broken. And though there are many fallen, there are also many that will live on.

But as proud as I am of my queen and of those who follow her, I cannot bear to listen to one more word. My heart aches with so much. Even Robb's presence next to me is not enough to ease my mind or my sorrows. When I see Tyrion's face approach me through the crowd, only then does my heart feel a touch of happiness.

I embrace him tightly when he reaches me. But as soon as he asks me about our family, my face falls. He looks shaken before I even get the chance to tell him about Leander, Jaime, or Cersei. He's silent for a long while, as am I. My eyes land on the Red Keep as I search for any kind of distraction from our grief, but then I find myself making my way towards it.

"Where are you going?" Robb asks.

I turn around, looking between him and Tyrion. I take a deep breath.

"To find our brother," I say.

Robb starts towards me but Tyrion puts a hand on his arm.

"I'll go with her," Tyrion says solemnly.

Together, the two of us walk into what's left of the Red Keep. We walk past the area where Leander was killed, now completely buried in fallen stone. We crawl over piles of rock in order to get into the thick of the castle. I lead him into the map room, the last time I saw Jaime. We stand there awhile, looking at the map on the floor and taking in the destruction all around us.

"He betrayed me, you know."

Tyrion looks at me.

"Jaime," I say. "When we got to the city, Cersei had me taken away and threw me into the dungeons. She knew we were coming because of _him._ She poisoned me with the same poison used to kill Myrcella. She just left me there to die."

Tyrion doesn't so much as move as he patiently waits for me to continue.

"Bronn helped me escape," I say. Tyrion raises his eyebrows at this. "I fought my way into battle, and I swore to myself that I would end Cersei's life. That's what I told myself when I fought my way to the Red Keep... but the truth is, it wasn't for Cersei." I look at Tyrion with tears in my eyes. The next part comes out in a harsh whisper. "It was for Jaime."

My brother's eyes soften immensely, a permanent frown etching onto his lips; but he still remains silent.

I take a moment to gather myself and wipe my eyes.

"I loved him, Tyrion," I say. "And it wasn't enough. And my love for him killed my son."

Tyrion steps forward. " _No,_ Lysandra. Do not do that to yourself."

I shake my head.

"I've never seen darkness quite like this before... but it doesn't matter anymore," I say. "Our queen has emerged victorious without heinous bloodshed. We defeated Cersei, and we'll defeat the Night King just the same."

Tyrion nods and looks around, as if taking everything in. Finally, he sighs.

"If I may be so bold, sister-"

"Aren't you always?"

He gives me a small, tired smile before it fades just as quickly.

"It's alright to care for yourself sometimes," he says carefully. "What you've endured... especially now, no one can blame you for your grief. You don't always have to be strong. You don't always have to be a soldier. Jaime-" he gets choked up at the sound of his brother's name. He stops for a moment, collecting himself. "I loved him dearly, but he was lost. It was never your duty to save him from himself."

I hold his gaze for a long moment. My lip trembles just a bit before I allow my training to kick in; I follow the techniques to steady myself in the face of weakness. Finally, I smile sadly.

"Nor was it yours, brother."

And the words seem to unleash the pain being held behind his eyes. He cries, falling to his knees and I go to him instantly. I lower myself to the ground with him and we hold each other, allowing our grief to intertwine with the other's. I don't know how long we cry together, but eventually I'm able to bring both of us back to our feet.

We advance on the buried tunnel; light shines across the top where the daylight is still visible.

We dig.

We dig until our arms ache, and then we continue in silence. The stones roll against each other down the abnormal mountain until we're finally able to make a path. Drenched in sweat, we crawl through the passageway until the tunnel opens up below us. More mountains of stones litter the ground, but there's plenty of space to roam throughout. There's no sign of Jaime or Cersei, or anyone else for that matter. In silence, we continue our search; echoes of familiar voices shout in triumph from the outside.

"I should have been there for you more when we were children," I say, keeping my eyes on the broken arches.

The silence that follows is so long that I believe the moment has passed.

"You had your reasons," Tyrion replies, his voice quiet.

"I'm going to do better," I promise.

"You already have."

I turn to see him smiling warmly at me. I smile in turn... and that's when I see the golden hand.

It's sticking out from the deep pile of rubble. I let out an alarmed cry and rush to it, Tyrion following close behind. As I get closer, I can see Jaime's dark, yet blonde hair sticking out, revealing a partially bloodied face. His eyes are closed and his mouth is turned into a peaceful frown. It's as if the sight of him causes me to lose my mind all over again. I try to control my sobs as I reach out to my brother, wishing I could heal him with just one touch. I cover my mouth and close my eyes. Tyrion bows his head beside me and leans against me for support.

I hear a jostle of rock, and at first I think it's the piles around us settling or something caused by Tyrion shifting his body weight. But when I open my eyes, I can see a few of the rocks moving in front of me. It's so subtle I can just barely see it, but the sound is nearly deafening in the mournful silence. Then I swear I see Jaime's cheek twitch.

I spring into action, demanding for Tyrion to help me. Together we pull at the rocks plaguing Jaime's buried body. I study Jaime's facial expression closely, not sure if what I've seen is a vision of some sort or reality. With the tears barely dried on our faces, we uncover Jaime until there is nothing left. I continue to watch him carefully.

I notice the slightest rise and fall of his back.

"He's breathing," I say, not believing my own words.

I pass a hand under his nose just to confirm and can feel shallow air against my skin. I grab Tyrion's arm.

"He doesn't have long," I say. "Stay with him."

I race towards the outside walls as quickly as I can, calling for help with every step.

***

**Nightfall at King's Landing**

**The Great Hall**

I join Daenerys and the rest of her advisors where the Iron Throne still resides in the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Half of the room is gone, open to the dark sky above with torches to cast light upon us. Daenerys hovers near the throne with her two dragons flying freely overhead, but she doesn't move to sit in it like I would expect. She places one of her hands on the throne and the other on her stomach. Her all-black attire makes her look fierce, but there's something off. Her mannerisms. Despite her victory, she's troubled.

Tyrion stands near her as well as Jorah, Jon, Missandei, and Grey Worm. Robb stands beside me, so close we're practically touching. Arya stands on the other side of me. I feel so thankful to have them here with me, but my mind is far away. It's on everything and nothing. Leander, The Night King, Jaime lying unconscious but alive in a bed, Cersei's demise, the weapon that must be created, what comes next for Robb and I. I just can't get my head screwed on.

It's as if the Sight has hit its peak and all I can see are flashes of the past, present, and possible futures. I can't focus and I can't relax. Rage and grief intertwine in the pit of my emotions. I should feel overjoyed that Jaime may make it through his injuries, but I can't handle being much more than relieved at the revelation. Relieved that I didn't lose three family members in one day. Even though two out of those three family members betrayed me far more than once.

It's almost poetic, I suppose. Lannister blood on Lannister soil.

"I've called you here to discuss the approaching threat," Daenerys says, keeping her eyes on the throne. "As much as a celebration of our victory has been earned, I'm afraid there is no time for it." She turns to us. "I received a raven from Brandon Stark. We have far less time than I feared." She nods to me. "Lysandra, you've told me of the weapon to be forged with your blood. We can waste no time in seeing it done."

I nod. "Of course, Your Grace. But it cannot be here. In order to take every precaution, where the weapon is forged must be surrounded by water. Far from the threat's reach. I'll leave on the next ship."

"You're still recovering from the long farewell," Robb reasons.

"I'm recovered," I say, shooting him a look.

Arya nudges me a little.

Daenerys eyes the three of us carefully before speaking.

"Take a few days," she says. "You're needed for a few affairs here. We must discuss what lies ahead before your departure. Perhaps this Sight you have can be of further use to us."

"I'll do everything I can."

Her eyes soften as she continues to look at me.

"I know you're suffering from your loss," she says gently. "But I'm forever grateful for your aid."

I take a careful breath to steady myself as I feel all eyes shift to me. The pity hangs heavily in the air. I keep my stance tall and strong.

"I will do whatever is necessary to defend Westeros, and you, my queen. I have not suffered any more than anyone else here."

Daenerys nods respectfully, holding my gaze a moment longer before turning her attention to the rest of the gathering. She glances at the throne once again.

"You have all stood by my side," she says. "Even when our journey was riddled with doubt and fear. My faith in you has only grown, as I hope your own has grown in me."

"You've cared for the good of the realm," Varys says with a nod. "You've stayed true to your word. We have seen it, and so have the people."

"Thank you," Daenerys says. Her hand moves to her stomach once again. "All of you." She pauses. "And I hope you'll stand by me as we enter this next phase. It's... not quite what we were expecting."

Jon comes to stand by her at his time. He gives her hand a squeeze, a reminder that she's not alone, before letting go. That's when I know.

"You're not taking the throne."

Everyone looks at me, some in bewilderment, some are unphased. It's easy for me to tell who are the ones who knew about this plan and who weren't. Jon and Missandei look solemn but unmoved. When I focus on Tyrion, I'm shocked to realize he also knew, possibly just as long as Jon, and neglected to say anything.

Everyone begins talking at once. Confusion fills the air, a few pleas.

"What do you mean?"

"Who will take the throne?"

"What about the people?"

"Please," Daenerys says, raising a hand.

"Your Grace, if I may," Ser Jorah says. "After all you've endured-"

"I'm not stepping down," she says. "At least, not immediately. But with the Night King as a threat, none of us know how long this war may last." She looks to Jon. "I'm not going to put our child's life at risk."

"We can protect your child," Grey Worm says. "There's no person in this room that won't die for you or your child."

"I know that, Grey Worm." Daenerys sighs. "This isn't easy for me. This is something I've wanted for so long, but... this child means more to me than any throne ever could. If I take this throne, I am risking the life of the one I love most in this realm."

"But if not you," Varys's eyes shift to Jon. "Who is to take the throne?"

"I have taken to choosing a successor," she looks to Tyrion. "As was suggested long ago."

The group waits, and that's when I notice who has been silent during this whole ordeal. I don't want it to be true, but I also can't deny that a part of me has always known. Ever since the flames revived me in Winterfell and the Sight gave me the answers I needed.

"The prince that was promised..." I whisper to myself. I look to Robb who is already looking at me. "It's you. Daenerys chose you."

A mixture of emotions sweep throughout the room but Robb and I only have eyes for each other.

"My decision is final," Daenerys says, the strength in her voice unwavering. "Robb Stark has agreed to take the throne when the time comes. Until everything is in order, I will be overseeing the Seven Kingdoms. However, I have made an agreement that the North," she looks between Jon, Arya, and then Robb. "will be free."

Jorah's eyebrows furrow.

"And who will rule the North?" he asks.

"That bridge will be crossed when we've arrived at it," she responds. "The only matter we all need to deal with now is stopping the Night King."

The meeting continues but I can't process any of the words. I can feel Robb's eyes on me and I can feel Arya stiffen beside me, no doubt as shocked as she should be. While the others discuss, Robb leans over to me.

"Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"There's no need."

Robb goes to talk to me again but the meeting continues, calling his attention. With the excuse of my ailment, I'm able to slip away earlier than the others. But I can sense Arya behind me before I barely make it out of the hallway.

"I'd rather be alone," I say.

"I know," she says. "Me too."

I turn to look at her and can see the vulnerability in her eyes despite her stoic appearance. I sigh and massage my temples.

"You didn't know about this, did you?"

She shakes her head.

"No," she says. "But Daenerys has quite taken to Robb despite his hostile nature towards her in the beginning. He's been a part of every gathering from the start. I suspected something was going on, but neither he nor Jon mentioned anything like this."

"If Robb agreed," I say. "it's because he cares for the people of Westeros. And after all, Daenerys promised to free the North, just like your family has strived for all these years. If you're angry with him-"

"I'm not. But I also don't trust the dragon queen."

"You hardly trust anyone."

"I trust you."

I smile a little. "And I you. But I feel that you must give the queen a chance. Of all the paths I saw for King's Landing, Daenerys chose the less violent one. She does have the potential to be like her father, yes, but I truly believe her kind heart will win through in the end."

"In the end?"

My smile falters.

"Everything ends, my friend."

Arya's eyebrows furrow; but before she can ask me to elaborate, Robb approaches us from behind her. Arya looks back to me and nods.

"I'll leave you two," she says, starting to walk away.

"Arya," Robb says. "I need to speak with you as well."

"We'll talk later," she says, not breaking her stride.

When Arya is gone, Robb's blue eyes study me closely.

"How long have you known?" I ask calmly.

"Not long before the journey to King's Landing."

"I thought you said you didn't want the throne," I say. "During your war against Joffrey, you said-"

"I know." Robb sighs. "And I meant it."

I narrow my eyes. "This is about your resurrection, isn't it? You think this may be your purpose."

"I can never tell if you're using the Sight when you speak to me, or if you just know me that well."

"A bit of both," I admit. "If this is truly what you want, I will not stand in your way."

"I want you," he says, taking a step towards me. "You know I do."

"And yet, you cannot have me."

"And why not? Why must this change anything?"

"It changes everything, Robb."

He walks towards me until he takes my arms in his hands.

"It doesn't have to," he says.

I smile sadly at him.

"After this war," I say. "the people will never accept another Lannister on the throne. There would be no marriage for us... no future. But perhaps this is for the best. Perhaps this is what was intended for us all along. I just hoped our journeys would be intertwined."

"We _can_ have a future," Robb insists. "You've done so much for the Seven Kingdoms, for the North, my family; the people will see that you-"

"We can't be selfish," I say, stroking his cheek. "You taught me that. And I know that you're worried about Winterfell, but Sansa will take good care of your home when she becomes the Queen in the North."

Surprise reflects in Robb's eyes, making me smile.

"I know that's who you intend to run the North when it's freed," I say. "And it is a smart choice. You needn't worry. Though, I know you will miss it."

He presses his lips together, holding back tears that are beginning to form in his eyes.

"What if I'm wrong?" he asks. "What if this isn't why I was brought back? What if I do this and... I can't lose you, Lysandra."

"You could never lose me," I tell him. "Not really. I will _always_ be here for you... my king." I place my free hand on his heart. "Have _faith_ in yourself, Robb. I know I do. Because you, Robb Stark." I gaze into his eyes a moment longer. "You are my night sky."

The tears fall freely down both of our faces now.

"Lysandra, I-"

"Just kiss me. Please."

I lean my forehead against his and he obliges, kissing me gently at first. My fingers tangle in his hair as I pull him closer to me, deepening the kiss. Finally, with the little strength I have left, I pull away and hug him close.

"I love you," I whisper in his ear. "I always have. And you will make a wonderful ruler."

I take his face in my hands, looking at him with as much love in my eyes as I can communicate. He goes to say something but I place my fingers to his lips. I slowly back away, my hand falling to my side.

I leave him standing there in that dark hallway alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've reached the end of Chapter 31 - Among the Ashes.
> 
> Only a few chapters left until the finale! Don't forget to leave kudos or a comment if you feel so inclined. It really means a lot to me!
> 
> It seems that everyone has their own destiny to fulfill... How will Robb fair as king when the time comes? And what will happen when the Night King wages one final war? 
> 
> Chapter 32 will be released next Friday, July 31st.


	32. Nightslayer

**ONE YEAR LATER**

**Bear Island**

I study the letter in my hands, staring at the simple words over and over again. The letter arrived by raven this morning. Despite my preparation for it, I'm not quite ready to accept that the time has finally arrived.

_The march to the Wall has begun. We will wait for your arrival in Winterfell. Travel safe, sister, and guard the weapon with your life. Oh, and do try to play nice with the others._

_\- Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King_

"They've started their journey, I take it?" Arya asks, sitting beside me on the outside steps of Mormont Hall.

I hand her the small parchment and focus on the crashing waves down below. I adjust my furs, though I've grown quite used to the bitter cold. The smell of roasted venison emanates from the hall for dinner. It's been almost a year since we arrived in Bear Island and my mouth still waters at that smell. The meat is always perfectly tender. And though I miss the taste of wine, the ale provided is enough to satisfy an occasional night of drinking and forgetting.

I can feel Arya's eyes on me before she crumples the letter and tosses it aside. I raise an eyebrow at her.

"You hold onto every letter you receive," she says. "It's getting pathetic."

"Ah," I reply with a small smirk. "I reckon you're ready to be back home again, at least for a little while."

"I suppose." Arya shrugs. "Bear Island is no Winterfell, but I'll admit it's grown on me."

"You didn't have to come with me, you know."

"Like I would leave you here alone with the Red Woman and Gendry."

"And what's wrong with Gendry?" I ask in amusement. "He's been rather helpful in forging the weapon."

Arya's whole demeanor changes when we speak of Gendry. She tries to hide the light hiding behind her eyes but I know her far too well to be deceived.

"Gendry is arrogant," she says simply. "And a pain in the ass."

"Sounds like someone else I know."

"Yourself?"

I give her a look and she grins. After a moment of admiring the sea in silence, Arya speaks again, this time more gently.

"I know who you've really been wanting a letter from," she says. "But you were the one who told him to keep your relationship strictly business."

I don't bother lying about it. Arya and I promised to trust each other a long time ago.

"It's for the best." I sigh. "Robb is king now. He has a responsibility to the realm."

"It is rather strange that _two_ of my siblings sit on thrones now." Her eyebrows furrow. "And another is the Three Eyed Raven."

I look around us.

"Where is Bran, anyway?"

"Inside," she says. "He's decided to spend the night alone."

Another moment of silence passes.

"It's strange," I say. "A part of me just wants this all to be over. But the other part of me..."

"You don't know where to go if we survive this."

I nod.

"With Jorah being the Lord of Bear Island," Arya says. "You could always-"

"Don't say it."

"Come back here, if you wanted."

I roll my eyes.

"What Jorah and I have is complicated, Arya. And I could say the same about you and Gendry. I see all those stolen glances and exchanges of quips."

She fixes her eyes back on the sea and ignores me.

"Nothing will be the same after this, will it?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

"No," I say. "At least, not for a very long time."

I was sent to Bear Island nearly a year ago along with Jorah Mormont, Gendry Baratheon, and Melisandre (whom Arya always refers to as the Red Woman). Gendry and Melisandre were strictly for the purpose of creating the weapon I hold the key to, but when my travels were discussed, it was decided that Jorah would accompany us and inherit his former home of Bear Island with no lord or lady left to claim it. He was reluctant, especially after the death of Lyanna, but Daenerys was adamant about his worth.

Arya and Bran both ended up surprising me the morning we were to set sail. They were already there waiting for me along with the others. And though Arya swore she was strictly there for protection, I could see in her eyes that she cherished me as a friend just as I did her. She would not take no for an answer, claiming that her siblings and Winterfell would be able to stand without her. Bran agreed with his sister, but I knew he would want to be wherever the weapon was being held. And in that aspect of faith in their siblings, they were right.

Sansa has officially been named Queen in the North with minimal backlash and has been leading her people proudly, never hesitating to lend Robb a hand when in need. Both Grey Wind and Ghost remain in the North with her, as the South has never quite been to their liking. Robb, however, has had a difficult time winning over the people, despite all the good he has done since he took the throne. His past mistakes constantly hang over him, but the people around him, including Daenerys and Jon, have stuck by him. He's just and kind, everything Ned Stark would be proud of. Robb is still learning the political aspects of his reign, but he's already excelling.

After about six months of working on the weapon and settling into the new environment of Bear Island, the people closest to me began to realize how distant I had become. I only ever really talked to Arya unless I needed to discuss the serious matters with others. That's when Jorah came more and more into the picture. He was there even when I didn't want him to be. He was quiet and gentle; patient and kind. And eventually we... had our moments.

I'm not the same woman I was before the wildfire scourged King's Landing, nor do I want to be. I still think of Leander every day, and every day it takes everything in me not to chip away another piece of my soul. I live for him. I do this for him. And Jaime... well, he was granted Casterly Rock after it was discovered that he, in fact, killed Queen Cersei. However, it's not what he wanted. He's been working on the reconstruction of the Wall for almost as long as I've been at Bear Island. He's become the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, though it's not necessarily an official title anymore, nor are the oaths that used to be sworn along with it. Nonetheless, I've only heard of immense progress in that area. The Wall is more constructively sound than it's ever been and has a wide variety of people building defenses on the attack to come; including Tormund and the rest of the free folk.

I haven't received one letter from Jaime, nor have I sent one. I suppose I'll see him soon enough when we eventually join the rest of them at the Wall as planned.

Since being in Bear Island, I'm no longer recognized as the Shadow. They have a new name for me; one that has spread throughout Westeros and Essos alike. One that I don't believe I deserve, nor that I have earned; but the name refuses to fade.

Lysandra the Loyal.

Tyrion pointed out once in a letter that it was a far cry from "Lysandra the Whore", and he's right in that aspect. Still, I'm not sure I quite deserve the title. The things I've done since I escaped from King's Landing with Tyrion...

But none of that matters now. The final preparations are being made, and we are meant to start our journey to Winterfell in two days' time. It's the first time I will see anyone outside of Bear Island in a year. I've missed Tyrion and his quick wit and the sight of friendly faces, but I also know how much pain it will stir up within me upon seeing the beautiful city. So many memories lost... so many lives lost...

When Arya and I finally arrive for dinner, we sit at the head table which Lord Jorah insisted on long ago when our work here started. I sit where I normally sit, between Arya and Jorah. The faces of strangers have become familiar this past year, and yet it doesn't quite feel like home. I was warned of that by Rewan, and the Sight itself; that I will never truly feel like I belong anywhere. That I am not meant to belong anywhere because of my purpose. Still, a small part of my heart holds onto hope that they're wrong.

The dinner goes by slowly, with Jorah stealing glances at me that he thinks I don't notice. And I don't bother to feign surprise when he shows up at my bedroom door late into the night. I smile at him and he does in turn; a tired smile. One of a man who has a great many burdens weighing on his shoulders. I step aside for him to come inside before shutting the door tightly behind him.

"Lord Jorah," I say with teasing formality. "To what do I owe the honor?"

He approaches me, placing a rough but gentle hand on my cheek. He smells of the wood and smoke from the large fire. It's a comforting smell; a smell I've learned to take great care for. His blue eyes twinkle with a kindness that fills me with warmth. These blue eyes are not the vibrant, winter-like ones of the Wolf King. No, these are pale and soft; like the calmness of the sea on an early morning.

"Apologies for the intrusion," he says.

"The intrusion is always welcome."

His smile widens a bit. "It's no surprise that you're up at this hour."

"And I won't be sleeping anytime soon," I say, glancing at the door. "The weapon is finished but it... needs an extra touch."

Jorah brushes the hair from my cheek. His eyes grow a bit weary.

"Must they take more of your blood?" he asks.

I cover his hand with my own.

"I have plenty to spare," I tell him. "There's no need to worry."

"And what of the journey to Winterfell? To the Wall? Should I not worry about that either?"

I place both of my hands gently on his face.

"We beat the dead before," I say. "We will do it again."

But I know that he's also speaking of Robb. Jorah isn't a fool, and it's not as if it's the first time he's fallen for a woman whose heart has lingered elsewhere.

I sigh.

"Nothing has changed, Jorah. My path is my path, no one else's."

To my surprise, a slight smirk forms on his face. He shakes his head, moving closer.

"Always so mysterious. You know, I don't mean to pressure you about this... whatever this is. I just enjoy being near you."

"Kiss me," I say.

"You must be feeling so troubled about all this... if you need to-"

"Just kiss me."

And before he can say anything else, my lips are on his.

***

The weapon practically screams of honor and ferocity; a style Ned Stark would've surely approved of. As I bandage my hand, I examine the blade Gendry pulls from the steam and ash. The blade itself is on the small side, about a foot in length minus the hilt. Rather than the traditional gleaming silver, it's a reflective ruby red. Looking at one's self in the reflection is as if staring into a pool of fresh blood. One looks distorted and murky. There's something unsettling about it... perhaps because I know it was my blood that assisted in forging it.

"Wrap it in the cloth," Melisandre says, pointing a finger Gendry. "It will protect it from the moonlight."

"I know that," he replies, shooting her a glare.

As useful as the two of them have been in this quest, not even a year has caused them to work amicably together.

"It mustn't touch moonlight until tomorrow," she warns.

" _I know._ "

"It's here," I say, hoping to change the subject. They both look at me. "The end of this." I gesture to the room we've worked tirelessly in. "Can you believe we've made it this far?"

"I'll be glad to be done with it," Gendry grumbles, carefully wrapping the blade with soft, white cloth.

"Soon enough," I say. "Once we reach Winterfell it's only a matter of time. It will all feel like a blur until the battle."

"I've led you this far," Melisandre says. She dips her hands in some kind of purifying oil. "You're ready, Lysandra. When the time comes for the Night King to fall, you will be ready. As for me, I've kept my word. It is now time for the two of you to carry on this duty. I truly wish you safe travels."

Gendry cocks his head to the side, then glances at me. When I shake my head, he addresses Melisandre.

"You're not coming with us?"

"My journey with you has come to an end. The Lord of Light will stay with you long after I'm gone." She wipes her hands gingerly.

"And where will you go?" I ask.

A small, almost imperceptible smile crosses her face. She touches the necklace on her neck for only a moment.

"Not far," she says.

Those are the last words she says to us before leaving the room. The last words she says before I find that necklace without its owner outside that very same night. In the dead of night, lit by nothing more than distant torchlight, I pick up the necklace and hold it in the palm of my hand.

The longer I gaze at it, the more I feel drawn to it. Slowly, it begins to glow a bright red. I can feel the power surging from it, begging me to claim it as its new owner. I'm not sure if it's the Lord of Light or the Many-Faced God or something else entirely. I want so badly to put it on. I want to harness whatever this gift is I have and channel it into something that has the potential to be just as powerful. So much power that I could control...

I throw the necklace onto the ground and smash it with my heel.

**Arriving at Winterfell**

****The chill in the air is a welcoming breeze against my face as I step off the ship with my comrades. We're greeted by Lord Manderly at White Harbor but despite our tiresome journey, we do not stop to rest in his company long. We continue the journey, with Manderly and his promise to ride to the Wall with the rest of us when the morning comes. Rest has been scarce for all of us these days. But when Manderly supplies us with readied horses, my heart forgets its heaviness.

At the stables, my horse Fidelis is waiting for me. Lord Manderly tells me it was at the insistence of Queen Sansa, and I've never loved the beautiful and brilliant Stark girl more. I stroke the dark mane of my beloved horse; a horse that has managed to survive such turmoil in all our journeys together. He nuzzles me with such affection that it makes my heart ache and sing all at the same time.

"I know, boy," I whisper. "It's been a long time. No apples this time, I'm afraid; but we'll make do."

Though Fidelis has aged, his stride appears just as strong as ever before. He leads the rest of the group on our path and it feels as though I never left his presence. I wanted to take him with me, of course. But his heart will always remain in the North. It's where he belongs, and I am not one to take the feelings of home lightly.

Winterfell is almost just as I remembered. Within the past year, it has been rebuilt to full capacity since the last battle against the Night King. It's more fortified this time though, with underground passageways and more protection against outsiders.

A city fit for a queen, you might say.

I half expect for us to be led to the throne room straight away, but Sansa is already waiting for us within the city gates. She wears a beautiful gown with leaves sewn beautifully into the fabric. Dark blues and maroons as if intertwining winter and autumn in one design. She wears an elegant crown on her head, beautifully designed with the Stark symbol of a wolf. Grey Wind is on one side of her, and Ghost on the other. Behind her are multiple protectors, some I recognize such as Brienne of Tarth, and others I don't.

Queen Sansa approaches us with such grace. A gentle smile on her lips and her delicate hands clasped in front of her. But I notice the shifting of the eyes and the slight twitching of the fingers. She's doing everything in her power not to run to Arya and Bran and embrace them. We bow at her presence, though Arya seems to perform hers with a bit of playful sarcasm, and only then does she embrace her siblings each at a time. When she arrives in front of me, she takes my hands in her own and squeezes them.

"You never write," she says.

I smile. "I've missed you as well, Your Grace."

Grey Wind taps his feet and my smile can't help but widen.

"And you, of course," I tell him.

He approaches me swiftly, brushing against my hand before I can even reach out to pet him. Sansa laughs and moves a bit to the side to allow him greater access. He whines at my touch and I lean down to kiss the top of his head before turning back to the queen.

"The weapon is secured," I say. "The others have arrived safely?"

"Only days before yourself." She links my arm with hers and begins to walk further into the city. "Come. I'm sure you're weary. Food and drink will suit you well. Everyone has been eager for your arrival."

Arya gives me a knowing look at the mention of "everyone".

I pretend to ignore it.

***

I've barely gathered my things into my room before Tyrion strolls in without so much as a knock. I mean to raise an eyebrow at him in amusement, but the sight of him stops me in my tracks. He looks... _well_. So well. Strong, older but in a complimentary way. His beard is still present but it's not as thick as before. He still wears the pin of the Hand on his breast, but now it is for a king instead of a queen.

"I hope you know I expect you to tell me everything since our departure," he says with that familiar serious, yet playful tone.

Some things never change, and I'm glad for it.

"Only if you tell me first," I say with a similar tone.

We stare at each other for only a moment longer before Tyrion laughs and enters my embrace. I hold him tightly, half afraid to let go. When he lets go of me, his expression is gentle and full of fondness. He shakes his head, still smiling.

"How I have missed your face."

"And I yours, little brother."

A moment of silence passes. I want to ask him... but no, I can't.

"Jaime is well."

I blink. "What?"

"That's what you really want to know, isn't it?" He raises an eyebrow.

"That's... well, I'm glad."

"Are you?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation.

Another silence.

"He's punishing himself, you know," Tyrion says, looking more tired with each passing word. "Leaving Brienne, turning away from Casterly Rock, leading the Night's Watch. It's his penance for all he's done... or so he believes."

I keep my eyes on him but I don't reply. The weight of his words carry heavier in my heart than I thought they might. After all, he's saying what I already know, what I've already assumed for months on end.

He motions to the bed behind me.

"I hope you weren't planning on sitting down," Tyrion says with narrowed eyes. "I have a full wine bottle with both our names on it. It's waiting for us rather impatiently in the dining hall."

I laugh a tired laugh, happy for the change in conversation, and force away my longing to rest.

"Lead the way."

On our way to the dining hall, I make my rounds with every familiar face I can see. I see Brienne, Ser Davos, even Missandei and Grey Worm. But Jon, Daenerys, and Robb are absent. It's strange really, I would think they'd be waiting to pounce on the readied weapon at hand. Though in Gendry's trusted care, I know more about that weapon than anyone. When I ask Tyrion about them, though hesitating at the mention of Robb, he tells me they are merely deliberating the next course of action. And before I can question it further, I see Jon making his way towards us with he and Daenerys's little one happily squirming in his arms.

Little Lyanna looks absolutely beautiful for a little bundle only just over 12 months. She has dark hair like Jon's, but her radiant green eyes shine from Daenerys. My heart is overwhelmed by the sight of them, and I'm ashamed to admit a tinge of jealousy and heartbreak at the very same moment. That's when I see Daenerys close behind the two with her extravagant braids complementing her grey, armor-like attire. They look happy. Far happier than I've ever seen the two of them. Parenthood has treated them kindly.

When they reach us, Lyanna's hand almost instinctively reaches out and brushes against my cheek. Her touch is warmth against my cold skin. I smile at her, and she's already wearing a careless grin. I barely have time to greet Jon and Daenerys before Lyanna instinctively reaches out past me, looking intently at something behind me. Jon smiles at the reaction, but his eyes flicker to mine and the smile fades a bit. Worry creases his forehead. I already know who's joined us before I turn.

Robb Stark looks radiant in royal furs and armor; I hardly notice Theon trailing close behind. I'm surprised to see that despite his attire and tamed beard, he still looks like the young man I fell in love with all those years ago. His brilliant blue eyes are weary, but they're still bright with determination and hope. His face is soft, yet strong. Where he has lost weight, he has gained brawn. I half expect to see a crown resting on his head, but realize we are not in his domain. We are under the rule of Sansa Stark; a rule he granted with proud ease.

I hesitate under his focused gaze, my fiery wit faltering and my words dying on my lips. Robb, however, does not hesitate. Before I can bow or greet him in any proper manner, he brings me into his arms. Arms that are much stronger than I remember. He laughs a short laugh in my ear and I can't help but smile through the shock. When he releases me, he grasps my arms tightly as if I'll disappear the moment he lets go.

"You're here!" is all he can think to say.

My smile widens as I see the excitement in his eyes. His face holds a look of disbelief, like a bewildered child full of life and joy. Not at all kingly, which only pleases me more. I think Robb realizes this too because suddenly he straightens a bit and carefully lets his hold fall.

"And you're here, Your Grace," I reply, hiding a smile and bowing my head. "You look well. And you as well, Theon."

Theon nods in greeting, a sign of respect.

Robb smiles, more controlled this time, but warm all the same.

"As do you, Lady Lysandra," he replies. "And I trust-" he shares a look with Tyrion, then Jon and Daenerys. "you've brought what you've promised?"

The energy seems to shift within our group. They listen more intensely, step a little closer.

"That I have," I say with a nod. "It's in the care of Gendry."

"And it will work?" Daenerys asks, almost afraid of the answer.

I turn to her, my face devoid of any softness or humor.

"It will work," I say.

I simmer when Lyanna reaches out for Robb again and he gladly accepts her in his arms. I collect myself.

"I know you must have questions," I tell them. "I will answer what I can."

Early the next morning, far too early for any soul to be awake, I find Bran sitting alone in the empty training ground. I'm not entirely surprised by him waiting for me. I've grown used to his mysterious ways. However, I know this time is not like the others.

"The Weirwood Tree," is all he says when I stop beside him.

I look down at him, but he keeps his gaze on the snow dusted trees ahead. Another winter, yet not as harsh as the last. Hopefully not as long. The winter has symbolized dread for the people of Westeros. Be that as it may, there's something calming about the silent winds that rustle the trees.

I try not to think about all those years ago, training with a skilled young man I would learn to be my son. Though I swear I can still hear the singing of friendly blades colliding.

"You're certain?" I ask.

Bran does look at me then. The same solemn expression he always carries.

"I am." He looks back to the trees. "And to answer your next question, no."

"No?"

"You're wondering if this is something the others must know, but you must plan your next steps carefully... You must let them lead this battle on their own."

"They will not understand," I warn.

"Perhaps," he says as if drifting in place. "Or perhaps they will see what is necessary. Be careful about those you trust with this, Lysandra. If you choose wrong... there may be no hope left for what is to come."

That night, amidst the preparation for the journey, I find Theon on his own. I watch him work until he notices me, only slightly startled by my presence. He smiles in surprise.

"Lady Lysandra," he greets, but his pleasant demeanor slackens as he reads my expression. "What is it?"

I take careful note of anyone around us before speaking.

"I require your assistance," I tell him.

"After all you've done for me? Name it, my lady."

"It is not a pleasant task," I warn. "And I fear we may not return."

Theon's eyes narrow a bit, but he doesn't refuse.

"And what is this task you speak of?"

I place a hand on his arm.

"We're going to commit treason."

**Preparation at The Wall**

****The sight of the Wall is completely astounding. I've seen it before, its construction, in visions through the Sight, but nothing is compared to seeing it in person. Its height is far more superior than the last time I was here. Its fortresses are stronger and beyond massive. Blocks of ice and black stone have been constructed to hold everything together. The stairs ascending are structurally sound this time around, and there are even places to warm yourself from the bitter cold of the North.

Jaime has done well.

We're welcomed openly by Tormund, who greets Jon more warmly than any other. He asks of Lyanna, who is safe in Winterfell under the watchful care of Sansa and Missandei along with what little guards were left behind for protection. However, the welcome does not last long. We've barely made it with enough time to prepare and with very little time to rest. The Night King's first move will reach us just before dawn, when the wind begins to change. I can feel his presence strongly. It gives me unwanted memories of our last battle against the foe.

I still wear the mark he gave me in the Lands of Always Winter. He knows about the weapon, just as I know when he will strike. I've tried to see beyond the battle, but I am unable to crack the Sight's surface. It's become a part of me, but as far as seeing the future... that's always been muddled. It hasn't helped that I've grown to hate the damn thing since the wreckage in King's Landing.

The weapon, now called Nightslayer, will go to Jon. That has been clear from the beginning. He took it upon himself long ago to end the Night King's reign once and for all. The exchange will be made soon, and Jon and the Night King will meet once again on the battlefield. The outcome is unclear... and the more I think about it, the more my heart sinks at the mere thought. If we should fail...

I'm torn from my thoughts when a figure greets us at Castle Black. His beard has grown heavy, and his familiar green eyes, not unlike my own, have dulled. His hair is long enough to fall into his eyes, but it's still on the short side. His blonde hair has darkened even more so since our last departure. He's clad in all black; furs, armor, and all.

Jaime Lannister's eyes stop on mine immediately, but instead he addresses Robb with a shallow bow.

"We're ready for you, Your Grace," he says. Even his voice has changed. Clear, but more gruff and seemingly aged.

Without another word, he gestures us inside before disappearing through the door himself. We follow behind Tormund and I ignore Tyrion's watchful eyes on me.

A meeting pursues; tactics are discussed as well as the promised weapon. And it is at this point that Gendry officially hands over the weapon, still wrapped in the white cloth. He sets it carefully down in the center of the table which we have gathered around. He looks to me and I unfold the cloth, revealing the blade in all its blood-red glory. Gasps of those who haven't seen it fill the room. Jon gives me a knowing look and I nod once. He takes it, one hand on the hilt and the other cradling the blade, and examines it thoughtfully.

"All this conflict," he says softly to himself. "All this time..."

"You couldn't have made it into a sword?" Tyrion muses, giving Gendry and myself a playful look.

"You may take it up with the Sight," I say pointedly. "Melisandre and I instructed what we were told."

"And what about her?" Ser Davos speaks up beside Jon and Robb. "Where is the witch?"

"Dead," I say simply, knowing the weight of relief it will have on him. "Do not fret, Ser Davos. She will not be back. As for the size of the weapon-"

"I can get close enough," Jon says, giving me an appreciative look. "Thank you." He looks to Gendry. "Both of you."

Daenerys tenses ever so slightly, a flash of worry covering her face before it vanishes. No one takes notice except for me.

"You're sure you want to do this?" Arya asks Jon.

He nods. "It must be done."

"And if we fail?" Jorah asks.

I realize his question is directed towards me, and the others either avoid my gaze entirely or wear grave expressions. All except for Theon, who looks as if he's left the conversation completely; his mind is heavy with other thoughts.

I place a gentle hand on Jorah's arm.

"Failure is not an option, Lord Jorah," I tell him.

At the risk of being too forward in the presence of others, I move my hand to his cheek for a brief moment before letting it fall. Robb takes note of the gesture more intently than others but says nothing. I address the entire room with my next words.

"We survived the Battle of Winterfell," I say. "with the odds stacked high against us. We lost those we loved along the way, but here we stand to honor them. We must succeed. For them, for ourselves, for the future of Westeros and the world as we know it. Tomorrow, we will fight. Tomorrow, we will end this."

I bow before leaving the room.

Jaime finds me later, sitting in the darkened dining hall with nothing but candlelight to keep me company. I've been here a little while already, but I knew he would find me eventually. I knew he would seek me out when he gathered enough courage to face me.

He stands to the side.

"May I sit?" he asks.

I gesture to the empty seat across from me and he takes it, sighing heavily as he does so.

"You look different," he says after a beat.

"So do you."

"You cut your hair again."

"I can fight better if it's at the shoulders."

"Ah. You're not... weakened, are you? I've heard rumors about the blood-"

"Little bits at a time. I'm fine. Though I suppose it is easier to listen to rumors rather than send a letter or two."

Jaime's jaw clenches at the sudden harsh words. His eyes shift towards the table and he rubs his palms together absentmindedly.

"You really need to stop doing that," I say, gesturing to his hands.

"Stop what?" He looks down at his hands and immediately halts them.

"It's your tell," I explain. "When you're worried, occasionally when you're lying. Someone may use it against you someday."

He narrows his eyes, unsure of how to respond. Finally, a small chuckle escapes him and he shakes his head. His hands relax onto the table. Then the smile fades into a soft frown.

"I know you blame me," he says. "I blame myself. If I hadn't... I'll never be able to tell you how sorry I am."

My eyebrows furrow. Then I realize without having to ask.

"I know you're sorry," I say. "I've known that for a while now."

"I won't ask for your forgiveness."

I fold my hands onto the table.

"Euron Greyjoy killed my son," I say evenly. "Leander's blood is not on your hands."

"Lysandra-"

"No, listen." My voice is firm. "It's the truth. It was _not_ your fault. But I'm just... I'm tired, Jaime. I'm tired of fighting for you. I'm tired of having to forgive you. I'm tired of missing you. Of...of not being enough, Jaime." I sigh, hating the emotion that latches onto my words. "My whole life I've been a ghost in this family. I've had to fight for myself and that made me who I am today. It made me strong. But this past year... my will to fight has weakened. Not my strength, but my will. This Sight... it drains me. And then losing Leander... There is no one who understands, not even those I love. And it's... I'm just tired, Jaime."

A heavy silence hangs between us for a long while. Finally, with heavy eyelids, I begin to stand, but Jaime stops me. He isn't looking at me, but I sit back down.

"I did choose you," Jaime says quietly. "Back in King's Landing, you told me I never chose you. But I did, Lysandra. I did but it was far too late. Down in the tunnels, when I was with Cersei... when I saw the emptiness, the hate, in her eyes, when I realized how far I had strayed..." He trails off for a moment. Then he meets my eyes, heavy with guilt and sorrow. "I know I'm too late. I haven't been the brother you've needed. But I am here now. And I will spend however long I have left proving that to you."

Just for a moment, I can see a flash of our childhood. The two of us adventuring in secret at Casterly Rock. The Sight shows me these images and I feel a nostalgic warmth settle in my heart.

I reach for his hand and hold onto it with a gentle grip, looking him in the eyes.

"I told you before you didn't need my forgiveness," I say. "That is still true. You are my brother, and I will always love you and be by your side when you need. Just... please, stop punishing yourself. Just be my brother, okay? That would be enough."

A small smile comes across Jaime's lips as he places his free hand on top of mine.

"Are you frightened?" he asks after a while.

And for the first time in a long time, I answer that question truthfully.

"Yes," I say.

Jaime's expression turns into a look of comfort and he pats my hand.

"You'd be a fool not to be."

His touch causes a wave of strength to push back into my heart. Finally, I nod.

"We'll face it together," I say.

"We will."

And in this moment, I know his words hold nothing but truth.

The dawn is not far off.

My weapons rest on my lightweight but strong amor. On my breastplate rests the sigil of King Robb, a wolf but one unlike the traditional Stark symbol that Sansa carries. Robb's wolf is black but accompanied by a grey-blue flame surrounding it; a nod to House Targaryen, or more specifically, former Queen Daenerys. I ready my bow and arrow and secure them on my back. Daggers are hidden, though I still feel an emptiness without the wolf dagger Robb gifted to me. It is one of the many items I have lost throughout the journey since House Frey. The clothes Stalia gave me, Lionheart, the ship from Mateo, the sheath Jaime designed for me, even the faces I kept safely tucked away have all been lost from battle or journey.

I hear someone join me on the balcony overlooking the frozen ground. I don't have to look to know it's Jon Snow. He settles beside me, his arms resting against the railing. He eyes the waiting sun just as I do. After a long, calming breath, he disrupts the silence.

"This is it," he says. "Everything that has happened... it's led us here."

And our exchange of words drift away with the winter wind.

I hear it before I see it. A shriek of pain that rumbles the Wall itself, jostling everyone in its wake.

Rhaegal has been hit, and he will never grace the skies again.

Dawn has come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've reached the end of Chapter 32 - Nightslayer. 
> 
> Only three more chapters left of Lannister Blood! As always, don't forget to leave kudos or leave a comment if you'd like to show your love for this chapter/story. It really means a lot that you've all stuck with me this far and have been so patient. :) 
> 
> Lysandra must face a challenge unlike any before. Who will live to see the light after the dark... and who will fall into the clutches of ice?
> 
> Also, I do have a playlist for this story on Spotify if anyone would like to check it out! You can search for "Lannister Blood" on Spotify and it is the playlist by "Tilly". 
> 
> Chapter 33 will be released no later than Wednesday, August 26th.


	33. Lannister Blood

****The Final Battle** **

_Lysandra’s POV_

The mass of soldiers alike turn into a blur before my eyes. My new sword forged personally for me is safe at my hip, not yet drawn but ready. Rhaegal lies in a bloody mess far down below on the ice, like a horrific painting for the world of fire and ice to look upon. I can’t see Daenerys but I know how she must feel… like a piece of her heart has been violently ripped from her broken body. The sight of the dead dragon affects me more than I expect. The sight of a beautiful creature slain out of hatred… it’s unsettling.

I rip my eyes away from the scene and start down the stairs, following Jon before giving him a final nod and disappearing into the shadows of the Wall. I can sense the Night King approaching. I can hear his army screeching up into the sky as they collide against the Wall itself and whatever traps lay before it. All this and I continue to move away from the fight, through the small pathways and every nook and cranny I’ve spied since my arrival. I know what’s waiting me beyond the Wall. What I don’t expect is to practically collide into Robb on my way there.

He looks at me with that wild look in his eye. A look he only gets when war lies close beyond his reach. It takes a moment for him to register who I am. When he does, he grabs me tightly, glancing at the direction I’m headed in.

“Lysandra-”

“Let me go, Robb.”

“You’re planning something.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?” he shouts over the chaos.

“You lost the right to ask me _anything_ a long time ago,” I snarl. “Now, let. Me. Go.”

He’s taken aback by my hostile manner, but I know it’s the only way he’ll let me go. He backs away. He suppresses the hurt look in his eyes and the Robb Stark who won so many battles against the Lannister army takes over. His jaw sets and he looks at me with a fierceness in his eyes only a wolf can have. Within barely a second, he’s near me again and roughly presses his lips to my own. It’s short, but a fire shoots throughout my veins. He breaks away, retracting his hand from my waist and stepping back again.

“I love you,” he says. And it’s not soft or cautious.

It’s said with the powerful voice of a soldier.

Of a king.

He’s gone before I even have time to catch my breath. I walk backwards for a moment, staring at the path he disappeared down.

“I love you, too,” I whisper to the darkness. “Always.”

_Beyond the Wall – 3 rd Person POV_

The dawn breaks through like shattered glass and the army of the Night King is already upon the living. Drogon flies overhead with Daenerys on his back, burning everything in sight and veering away from whatever weapons fly toward him. But the fire proves to be a foe within itself, melting the ice beneath not only foes but also allies. The Wall is still heavily armed, with Jaime Lannister, and a silent Brienne at his side, leading his men with a force he’s never shown before this dreadful morning. Robb leads more of his men beyond the Wall to attack the wights and White Walkers head on, with Jon close at his side. Jon keeps Nightslayer close to his chest, and the Night King knows exactly who has the formidable weapon. The ice demon himself is visible to Jon, but swarmed with the protection of his own ravenous army.

Wildlings fight beside the Stark brothers along with countless men; including Jorah and Grey Worm, accompanied by the Unsullied and the remainder of the Dothraki. Jon wields Longclaw with a determination he hasn’t felt in over a year. Flashes of his daughter stick in his mind and he fights his way through the undead. Lyanna, named after his birth mother and also in honor of Lyanna Mormont. Lyanna’s safety, her future; the promise that her parents will return to her even if she is too young to comprehend the thought.

He must return. He will return. He won’t leave her. She is his light in a dark, uncertain world.

It is her that he thinks of when Robb and his allies clear Jon’s way to the Night King. It is her that causes his fear to dwindle. It is in her that he finds his strength for one final battle against a never ending foe.

It is Lyanna that Jon thinks of when his sword collides with the Night King’s.

_Lysandra’s POV_

Theon and Gendry are a few steps behind me beyond the mounds of ice. I don’t look back. None of us do. We have one mission, and one mission alone. We can’t stop. We must keep running. Even if our limbs start to give out and our breathing leaves us, we must keep going.

I can see it. The Weirwood Tree. The one Bran told me of long ago. Long before he confirmed his own suspicions at Winterfell. The tree where the Night King became the ice demon that he is today… in this very battle. The tree that holds magic deep beneath its roots… perhaps the magic that started it all.

Gendry lets out a cry of warning and I fall to the ground, rolling away from a White Walker before a sword plunges into the ice beside my throat. A small dagger is in my hand within seconds and I slash the icy wrists before my eyes. The thing grimaces but shows no other sign of pain before its sword clashes against my blade, knocking it from my hands. I roll further away and stand in one fluent motion. My sword is out within the blink of an eye and the mere feeling of using this sword against an enemy is like saying hello to an old friend.

Three more White Walkers have ambushed Gendry and Theon. Theon fires an arrow at another one approaching before defending himself against another. Gendry swings his war hammer with little effort, going for two hits in one swing. My attention is violently snatched away as I deflect another attack from the Walker before me. He rears up to strike again, but I’m too quick. I duck under his shoulder and land a swift kick to his side. It only causes him pause for a moment before he’s on me again. I lean back to escape another swing before letting out a cry of rage, seeing the Tree in the distance. I let another dagger fly from my grip and it sinks into the Walker’s arm. The alarm in its eyes is enough for me to take control. I grasp my sword and swing with all my might at the creature’s chest. With one strong swipe, the Walker bursts into ice that momentarily clouds my vision.

Having one Walker defeated, I turn to my companions and begin to nock an arrow when another Walker ambushes Gendry from behind. Before my arrow can leave, a dagger is thrown from behind me and sinks into the Walker before it can attack. Gendry takes the opportunity to finish the kill, then looks in bewilderment to the thrower.

That’s when I turn to see Arya. She looks livid and wild, staring at the three of us… no not three; _four_ of us. Tormund is now by Theon’s side finishing off the last attacker. We’re all breathing heavily; blood pours from a few of our wounds but we are otherwise unscathed.

“Arya,” Gendry says, but is unable to find more words.

She looks at him for only a moment before turning her glare on me.

“You trust these two idiots but not me?” she asks, trying to fight between the hurt and anger in her voice.

“You’re here now,” I say. “Either come with us or stay out of our way.”

“I heard you and Bran talking,” she says as we begin on our path again. “Whatever you’re planning, you could die. Couldn’t you?” When I don’t answer, she continues. “Why? Why do you insist on following your god’s orders? Why die for the Sight?” She grabs my arm to keep me from walking. “Why?”

I haven’t seen her this angry in a long time, but I can feel hurt, even the fear, radiating off of her. She keeps her grip on my arm and I fight the reaction to shove her off. The longer I look into the her eyes, the softer my heart becomes.

“I will never wear a crown, or hold any title of great importance. The people will never sing songs about me, nor tell of my adventures to their children before bed. But none of that matters. Because I carry on my chest a sigil of honor. I swing my sword for the place I love; the people I love.” I rest my hand over hers. “I don’t do this for the Sight or the gods or any other being that is beyond my understanding. I do this for those I love. For you, Arya. And if I die today, it will be worth every stroke of the sword.”

The two of us share a look, unwanted tears brimming in Arya’s eyes. Finally, she blinks them away and casts a look to the others.

“Let’s get moving,” she says.

I nod to Tormund.

“How did _you_ know?” I ask him.

“Jon’s orders,” he says with his gruff tone. “Couldn’t have you venturing off without a little muscle.”

I crack a smile before I can stifle it.

I nod to Arya.

“You heard her. Let’s go.”

And with the screeching of the undead and the yells of the living in the distance, we continue on.

_Beyond the Wall – 3 rd Person POV_

Fire erupts across the sky as Drogon attacks the enemy with no mercy. Ice winds become harsher around him, and the fight between daylight and darkness continue to fight throughout the clouds despite the rising of the sun. The Dothraki are severely wounded but where they fall, the Unsullied take their place in battle. Traps are set into motion just beyond the Wall as Jaime shouts orders against the shrieks of the undead. Drogon is able to set fire to a barrier, but it’s only a matter of time before the wights repeat the same battle tactic they did during the Battle of Winterfell. Archers up high are ordered to shoot, and not one arrow misses its target.

But as the ice winds build up, Drogon is forced from the sky and nearly collides into a frozen lake. This jars Jon from his focus as his fear for Dany’s life springs into his heart. It’s long enough for the Night King to once again gain the upper hand as he advances on Jon without fear or worry present in his blue eyes. He pushes Jon back but the action only causes Jon to fight harder. His swings become more wild but are not without strategy. The next time the swords clash, some distance is put in between them. Jon wipes a thick coat of blood from his brow and the Night King’s lips curve in a slow, subtle smile.

As the battle continues on around them, the entire world seems to slow as Jon reaches for the weapon safely tucked away in his armor. When he pulls it out, the blood-red blade of Nightslayer seems to shine in the Night King’s eyes. The smile fades, but only a bit. His grip on his own sword grows tighter as he anticipates Jon’s next move. Jon looks for Dany but she is lost somewhere in the mounds of ice with Drogon. Robb fights White Walkers to keep them away from his brother. Jon looks back at the Night King with a newfound strength.

“Let us end it,” he says. And though his words are lost in the battle cries and harsh winds, the Night King hears him… and he nods in response.

Jon fights the urge to look beyond the mountains; to look for any sign of life or movement. He fights the urge to think of Lysandra’s last words, of their last conversation. So instead, he grasps the weapon tighter and charges forward.

A wight lunges at him from the side but it’s cut down by Jorah before he advances on another foe. Though the weapon is on the smaller side, Jon can feel the strength in his hands. With Longclaw in the other hand, he uses it to deal the first blow against the Night King. He deflects it easily, but Jon counts on it. It leaves him open, if only for a second. He thrusts Longclaw at the Night King again. And finally, without a moment of hesitation, Jon hurls the weapon directly at the heart of the enemy.

A strong wind seems to burst through the both of them, sending Jon sprawling backwards. Longclaw clatters onto the ice a few feet from him. When he has the strength to push himself up, he finds the Night King standing there; a blank expression on his face. He looks down at the weapon in his chest and slowly places a hand on the hilt. He draws it out little by little until he’s looking at the entirety of the weapon in his hand.

His eyes flicker to Jon… and an evil smile spreads across the Night King’s face.

_Lysandra’s POV_

He knows.

He knows and we’re out of time.

I can already hear the undead gaining on us. I knew we wouldn’t have much time… I just didn’t anticipate having _so little_ of it.

Nightslayer, the _real_ Nightslayer, rests safely in its sheath against my hip as I run harder alongside the group. It isn’t the Night King we must end… it’s the origin. The Tree. The very tree that started all the darkness.

And he knows about the decoy. He knows I have it. He knows what I have planned.

We’re out of time.

That moment with Jon before Rhaegal’s demise flashes before my eyes.

_“This is it,” Jon says. “Everything that has happened… it’s led us here.”_

_“Yes,” I say. “And are you ready?”_

_“I trust you,” he says firmly. He reveals the weapon forged from my blood. “You’ve given me no reason not to. But the risk…”_

_“It will work.” I take Nightslayer from his waiting hands. “It has to.”_

_“And if it doesn’t?” Jon asks. “What will you do then?”_

_I sheathe the weapon before looking at the uncertainty in his eyes._

_“I will do what I must,” I reply. “By my blood, you will return to your daughter.”_

_“You act as if you have no one to return to,” he says, somewhat sharply. “You have people that care for you, Lysandra. Myself included.”_

_I smile sadly._

_“I know. And the feeling is reciprocated, I assure you. But you have to understand… what is that saying you’re always going on about? ‘Love is the death of duty’?” A sad look crosses Jon’s face as he nods. “Well… my duty is to those I love. It always has… and it always will be. If death follows, so be it.”_

_The winter winds and flapping of dragon wings fill the silence as my words seem to hover in the air. Suddenly, Jon reaches into the depth of his furs. He pulls out a longsword, silver and radiant with specks of blue and gold at the hilt. As he displays it in his hands, I can’t help but gasp. The helm itself is fashioned into the head of a lion. The colors… it’s as if a dance between ice and fire. It’s breathtaking; so much so that tears sting my eyes through the cold._

_“Sansa had it made for you,” Jon says, placing it into my now waiting hands. “She called it Iceheart; a memento to the sword you lost. You can call it whatever you’d like, of course-”_

_“Iceheart. It’s beautiful,” I say softly, eyeing the craftsmanship. I look back up at him._

_He smiles. “You may be a Lannister, but you’re also a Stark. At least, you are to us.”_

_The words pull at the little tenderness still left in my heart. Surprising both of us, I move Iceheart to my side and pull Jon into a tight embrace. It only lasts a moment, barely long enough for him to respond._

_“Thank you,” I say shakily into his shoulder. And we both know I mean for so much more than the sword and his kind words._

With the Weirwood tree up ahead, I clutch Iceheart closer to my chest. A swarm has started to erupt over the mountains behind us and through the cracks and crevices of the pathways. The undead are already here. The White Walkers and wights will be on us before we can reach the tree. Sweat pours down the back of my neck and I force myself to surge forward.

“We’ll never make it!” Gendry shouts over the wind.

“No,” Arya agrees.

Then I feel my bow and quiver being ripped from my back. I turn to see Arya stopping, already nocking an arrow. I stop in my tracks, as do the others.

“What are you-” I start.

“ _We_ won’t make it,” Arya says. She releases an arrow before looking at me. “But _you_ will. Go.”

And for the first time, I hesitate; looking at Arya, then Theon, then Gendry, then Tormund. They all nod, readying their weapons. Theon shoots an arrow in the enemy’s direction. My eyes move to Arya one last time.

“Go,” she says firmly. “Now!”

I sheath Iceheart and break off into a run. I look at nothing but the Weirwood tree ahead of me. I ignore the instinct to turn back. I ignore the screams. I ignore the aching in my chest.

 _Protect them._ I pray to whoever will listen. _Please… protect them._

When I reach the tree, climbing the steep, snowy slope to get to it, I nearly collapse into it. My breathing is haggard and I fight sobs as my emotions tumble over each other. The power emanating from the tree is so strong. Just by touching the trunk, I feel all the love, all the darkness, all the tragedy.

The white of the bark is nearly blinding, even among all the snow surrounding it. Red sap pours down the branches and trunk. It soaks my hands and I swear it looks like blood itself. The red leaves cause me to linger, not by the beauty but by the faces I feel like I see within them. Tortured, lost souls. I can hear the screams of victims. I can see the icy blue eyes in a haze over my sight. I try to blink it away but it remains there, torturing me. Suddenly, as I reach for Nightslayer, I feel an intense and invisible agony that causes me to jerk my hand back.

I’m alone. Forever, I will be alone. In death or in life I will wander the land without a soul, without a home. It doesn’t matter what happens here. I will never be at peace.

“No,” I say aloud to nothing, wiping tears from my eyes. “That’s not true.”

But the thoughts keep coming. The memories I’ve pushed behind me erupt through the surface like a broken dam. They pour into my vision so I can see nothing else.

Cersei’s hatred.

The rape that lost me the people and my innocence.

Being starved and beaten at the Twins.

Robb choosing Talisa.

Murdering Jallen.

Fighting Rewan.

Dying in the Godswood.

Jaime’s betrayal.

The Hound.

Leander’s death.

“STOP IT!” I plead. “Just stop!”

But the darkness keeps coming. No matter how hard I fight it, how much I try to shove it away; it continues to come back. And maybe that’s what I deserve. Maybe that’s what I am. Maybe I am the darkness. Maybe that will never change.

My vision slowly clears, but the darkness remains. I see now that I’m holding Nightslayer to my own throat. I’ve already applied some pressure, for I feel a trickle of blood spilling down my skin.

I don’t want to resist. Not anymore.

And then somewhere, far beyond the ice, I swear I can hear Podrick singing. Just like that night long ago. I know it isn’t there, not really, but it’s as clear as the night I heard it. Just as beautiful, too. And then I can see the bundle of life in my arms that one stormy night long ago. I can see the land outside Casterly Rock, smiling alongside my siblings. I can feel Jaime’s embrace. I can hear Tyrion’s laughter. It’s all so real… so very real.

Leander stands before me. He stands there as if his murder never occurred. A shroud of white surrounds his silhouette and he smiles down at me. He’s adorned in his knightly armor, as proud and true as he was in life. I barely feel the tears flowing down my cheeks as he slowly reaches a hand down to me.

His hand closes over my own on the blade. He draws it away from my neck with a touch I can’t even feel. Within a brief moment longer, the vision ends and he is gone.

I am alone on the hilltop with the Weirwood tree… and the screams of wights are closer now.

Too close.

My hand fumbles for Nightslayer and I grasp the hilt with a newfound purpose. The blood-red blade glows before me as I raise it high above my head.

I can see Jon sprawled onto the ice within another vision. I can see the Night King ready to strike the final blow against his long foreseen enemy.

My weapon in my hand bursts into flame, encompassing my arms before completely covering my body as well. I feel a wight latch onto my back before howling in pain at the flames blanketing my entire being.

I drive the blade into the trunk of the Weirwood tree. It sinks slowly, pouring out thick, red liquid from its wound.

The wailing around me grows louder before halting completely. A crackling of bones and an eruption of ice fills the air.

The sound around me fades as I collapse into darkness.

_Beyond the Wall – 3 rd Person POV_

All throughout the battle, the dead burst into flame as if a wave is flowing with no end. Wights screech in pain, falling from their climb on the Wall or crumbling on the ice below. White Walkers shatter into ice shards, spraying foe and ally alike. It’s slow moving, but the end has come for the Night King’s army. They try to take as many men as they can with them to the depths of darkness, but most of the undead are engulfed too quickly in the flame. Drogon’s wings flutter against the ground and he lets out a triumphant war cry as he watches the enemies crawling on him burst into nothingness.

Somewhere in the thick of the ice, Arya Stark stabs one last White Walker before it, too disintegrates. She looks around at the fallen enemies before turning her attention back to the Wall. She tries to look for Jon, for Robb, but is too far to see anything but the flames near the base and beyond. As the remaining dead collapse around her and her allies, she takes notice of Gendry. He’s collapsed on his back. His breathing is heavy and he’s clutching a bloodied wound on his side. She panics on the inside, though she knows there isn’t enough blood to be fatal. She comes to his side immediately, glancing at a weary Theon and Tormund, and presses her hands on the wound.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t deeper,” Arya tells Gendry, nodding to the stab wound. “Do you _always_ need me around to protect you?”

He smiles a tired smile.

“Yes,” he says.

Arya allows herself to smile a bit as well, relief of the end shining through her hard exterior. But then the dark parts of her heart begin to fester. The relief turns into dread as she turns her attention towards the Weirwood tree, still engulfed in flames within a bright haze. She turns back to Gendry and his eyes are hard.

“Go,” he tells her.

Arya looks up at Theon and Tormund, getting to her feet and not wasting a second. She points to Gendry.

“Stay with him,” she orders, and takes off towards the tree.

Even as his army falls around him, the Night King still stands. His eyes are laced with fury as he watches Jon Snow bring himself to his feet. The end has come for the King, and he knows it. A decoy, a trick. A lost girl with visions and a weak will. A bastard with bad judgement. The mere thought of defeat causes the rage inside of him to swell. Did he want it to end? Perhaps… but not like this.

With Longclaw out of Jon’s reach, the Night King grasps onto one last spear. Robb sees this before Jon does, and he fights his way through hellfire to get to his brother. Jon goes for his sword but it’s too late. The spear has already left the Night King’s hand just as flames begin to crawl up his ice-like body.

The spear flies through the air… and it claims one final victim.

_Lysandra’s POV_

Covered in blood and sap, I feel myself being hauled up from the snow. I’m rolled onto my back and the darkness in my vision begins to clear. Arya’s blurry form slowly comes into focus. She’s saying something but it’s washed away in the ringing of my ears. The flames on my skin have extinguished and my limbs scream with exhaustion as Arya helps me sit up.

“It’s over,” is the first thing I hear her say. “You’ve done it, Lys. We’ve won.”

But before I can even respond, I hear it.

I hear father’s song playing loudly in my ears.

No. It can’t be. No. Not after all this.

I grab Arya’s arms.

“We have to go,” I tell her. “We have to go right now!”

By the time we reach Wall, I know we are far too late. I fall to my knees. My eyes are devoid of tears despite the pain in my heart as I watch the scene unfold. I barely feel the touch of Arya’s firm hand on my shoulder.

While the remnants of the Night King and his army burn all around, Jon holds Daenerys Targaryen in his arms. The spear sticks out of her chest, staining the white furs on her body with a sickening red. Tears fall from Jon’s face as he holds her close to him. Her lips twitch as she struggles to say something to him… her final words. They’re lost in the wind but Jon hears them, and the tears fall even more. They hold each other. A look of tranquility comes across Daenerys’s face as she looks at Jon one final time.

The light in her eyes fades.

The world grows dark in its absence.

Drogon’s cries shake the ground beneath us.

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen; First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons.

Her bravery, her sacrifice, will never be forgotten.

Long may she reign in the skies above. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've reached the end of Chapter 33 - Lannister Blood.
> 
> I FINALLY got to use the story title's name as a chapter name! I was waiting for the perfect opportunity and I believe this was it ;) 
> 
> As always, please don't forget to leave kudos if you enjoyed this chapter. Your support really means a lot to me. Only two more chapters left to go! Can you believe it?
> 
> What were your thoughts on this chapter? Is it what you expected? Let me know in the comments! Also, if there's anything you'd REALLY like to see within the last two chapters for our characters, let me know. I can't guarantee that I'll include it, but I may! Perhaps I've already written it that way... ;)
> 
> Chapter 34 will be released Thursday, September 3rd. 


	34. Rise of the Seven Kingdoms / A Journey's End

Time passes. Slowly, but it passes. It always passes slowly when grief comes into play. And yet, fast when a child is growing, or when the time comes for friends to part ways.

Time is a fickle thing, and we all must succumb to its effects.

It’s difficult for me to leave, and yet impossible for me to stay.

The death of Daenerys has weighed heavily on us all. The skies are a bit more dull, despite the extravagant and lonely Drogon that still roams through the wispy clouds. He roams and roams, forever keeping a watchful eye over the growing Lyanna and her mourning father. Drogon will come when he is needed, when he is called. And Jon, though he is weary and ridden with sorrowful thoughts, has proven himself to be a remarkable father.

Little Lyanna will never feel alone. She will never have to question if she is loved. She will never wonder if she belongs to a home. A true blessing; one I wish for her with all my heart.

“Let her be a Stark,” Daenerys had said with her last breath. “Let her be free.”

And Jon knew what she meant, for it was something they had discussed before. Daenerys was frightened of a growing madness that had plagued her family for generations. She was frightened that the reoccurring visions and nightmares she was having would eventually come true, despite the warmth fighting the darkness in her heart; despite putting someone else on the throne. She was frightened of herself, even when Jon insisted there was nothing to be fearful of. He loved her with every aspect of his being, and she him. And for that very reason, she couldn’t bear to see him die at the cold hands of the Night King.

The skies still cry for her, as do her loved ones. But the world still turns, and the kingdoms still grow and thrive under Robb and Sansa’s rule. The North has grown so strong as its own kingdom, and the two Stark children work surprisingly well together.

And here I find myself, once again, standing at the base of Blackwater Bay. I can’t help but remember training with Bronn down here, and the first time I heard the strange voice echo within my mind. The voice that has now faded since the Night King’s defeat, as well as the weight that I have carried through the Sight. It’s not gone completely, at least I don’t believe so. I can still sense things now and then. It just comes naturally. If I really focus my mind, I can pick up on a bit more, but I try not to.

It’s strange really, with the Sight not hovering over me with it’s mysterious “purpose”. And just like so many others before, it has left me. It almost feels like abandonment. All this trouble, all this loss, all this struggle, and for what? What has it left me with? Rewan said I would never feel at home anywhere, and it turns out he was right.

King’s Landing has changed so much since I escaped with Tyrion all those years ago. The smell is different, much more pleasant. It’s almost like Robb has brought the North with him, despite the heat of the South. The poor are becoming less common, and much of the sewage has been cleansed from the streets. It will take a long time for the city to come back together, but Robb has proven to be a promising king. A king who _fulfills_ those promises. A king the people can finally trust. A king they deserve.

I’m still not used to the fact that Tyrion and Robb work so well together. Why Robb decided to keep Tyrion as his Hand, I’ll never know. Sometimes I think Tyrion likes to tug at Robb’s patience, which is no surprise for my brother. And it used to get to Robb, but now Robb returns the gesture, which I honestly think pleases Tyrion greatly.

Jaime and Brienne now reside in the North, after quite a few passionate arguments. After the Night King fell, Jaime relinquished his title at the Wall with the approval of the king. Jaime wanted to follow Brienne, despite her protests after their last parting. My conversation with Jaime before the battle caused him to ponder a lot of things. Jaime is now a part of the Queensguard under the command of Brienne. The two have not quite reconciled, but things are a little less hostile these days, or so Jaime writes in his letters.

Jorah has returned to Bear Island to honor his father’s memory and lead his people. Daenerys’s death crushed him more than most, and the light in his eye that I’ve come to care for has faded immensely. He still carries hope, but a piece of his heart has fallen forever. I believe it was the aftermath of her death that caused him to realize I could never love him in the way I love another. The day he left was our final kiss.

“You will always have a home with me,” Jorah said, resting his forehead momentarily against mine. “But I know your true home lies with another.”

I placed my hand on his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

He covered my hand with his own and shook his head, taking it and bringing it to rest in between us at our side.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Lady Lysandra.” He gave my hand a squeeze before letting go. “Whatever comes, our path together is far from over. I’m certain of it.”

And a part of me couldn’t help but wish I could go with him, that I could love him and no one else. That I could feel a sense of home; a sense of normalcy once again. But as I watched him sail away that day, I knew it just wasn’t possible.

I breathe in the scent of the bay and close my eyes, pushing the memory away from me. Staying here has been difficult, but leaving will hurt just as much. I’ve been serving on Robb’s council since the victory, and while I’ve enjoyed helping the people and being around Tyrion, being with Robb and not being _with_ him is simply too much to bear at times. Seeing him become the man he was always destined to be, even after his life was stolen from him… My heart swells with pride and breaks at the same time.

I open my eyes and take in the calm waves lapping the shore near my feet. The Red Keep is visible in the distance, differently structured but the same, and I can’t help but smile.

“I never thought I would miss it,” I whisper.

“You could stay, you know.”

I turn to greet King Robb adorned in black armor, much lighter than his attire in the North. My smile grows a bit wider and I bow my head to him.

“Your Grace.”

Robb smirks a bit. “Lady Lysandra. You _know_ no one’s around to care about titles at the moment, yes?”

“Indeed,” I say. “Though, perhaps I simply like addressing you by your proper title.”

“Ah.” He moves to stand next to me. “And I appreciate it, though I’d prefer to hear my _name_ from your lips.”

He takes my hand and kisses it gingerly. The feeling sends my heart into a flutter. I look into those familiar blue eyes and sigh.

“Robb, you know I can’t stay.”

He takes a slow breath, looking out to the water.

“I know. And I respect your choice, though I may not agree with it.”

A moment of silence passes as we look out to the water. It seems so long ago that we sailed from Braavos to bring Robb home. So long since I swore my oath to him and his family.

“Jon and Lyanna are faring well in Winterfell,” Robb tells me, giving me a glance. “I think being Hand of the Queen suits him, though he still may not realize it.”

I smile a little. “He will. He’ll do great things for the people. As will Lyanna, as she grows into a young woman.”

“Have you seen it?” Robb asks, suddenly curious. “Through the Sight, that is.”

“The visions come and go,” I say. “But I see what matters. It’s become calm, yet turbulent at times… much like the sea.”

The waves lap against the rocks near our feet.

“It’s hard to believe all those years ago you wanted me dead, isn’t it?” I ask in a slightly lighter tone.

Robb’s mouth quirks up in a hesitant smile.

“And now look at us,” I continue, turning to him and gesturing between the two of us. “Biding our time, unable to say goodbye.”

He faces me. “Well, it’s not goodbye yet, is it? Your ship leaves tomorrow.”

“I suppose that’s true. I should be making my rounds, assuring everything is in place for my departure.”

“Your knowledge and loyalty will be missed,” Robb says softly, his eyes lingering on mine. “Among other things. And how you and my sister have become so inseparable, I’ll never know. I’ve never known her to sing anyone’s praises so highly besides Jon and herself.”

I grin. “Believe it or not, Arya and I are not so different.”

“But the two of you _will_ return to Westeros, won’t you, from time to time?”

I rest a hand on his arm. “Of course we will. What we’re doing, we’re doing _for_ Westeros… and for you. This isn’t a final goodbye.”

“But what if what you find is dark?” he presses. “What if what lies beyond Westeros and Essos is just more danger?”

“Then we will make sure the kingdoms are warned and prepared,” I reply. “After everything with the Night King, it would be foolish to think that’s all there is waiting for us out there. Knowledge itself is protection.”

Robb sighs and shakes his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He rests his hand over my own on his arm.

“I’d expect nothing less from the likes of you,” he says. “Westeros is in good hands… and I know Leander would be proud, and without a doubt right by your side in your search.”

My heart aches at the sound of my son’s name. I remember the mirage of him the day of the battle so clearly, it was like he was right there with me. There, encouraging me, _believing_ in me. So much love for me during our short time together as mother and son.

“I know,” I say softly. “I think of him so often. It hurts… but I’m glad it does. I’d rather remember our brief time together than never have anything to remember in the first place.”

Without warning, Robb gently pulls me into an embrace. I breathe in the smell of winter air and pine trapped within his essence, allowing myself to relax into his arms. We stay like that for quite a while, and with the growing touch I begin to forget why I need to leave tomorrow. Why the two of us can’t be together or find a way to make it work. His touch alone makes me forget my regrets and worries; it always has.

“Stay with me tonight,” Robb whispers against my hair. “Tonight, and always.”

I tilt my head up to him and stroke the tamed beard on his face.

“My heart you will have always, Robb Stark.” And the words seem to make his icy eyes melt. “Though, I cannot stay with you. But tonight… tonight I can give you.”

And I kiss him with the same amount of passion I had the very first time.

The next morning, I slip out from Robb’s chambers early enough not to be detected. The sun is just barely in the sky as I make my way through the hallways of the Red Keep towards the kitchen. It’s still strange really, not seeing the Lannister sigil at nearly every corner, but in a way it brings me comfort. There has always been so much blood associated with the Lannister name. And though I’m proud to wear the name myself, I am grateful that the Lannister reign has finally come to its end.

It took some time, but I’m finally no longer haunted by the dark memories of this city, of this castle. My assault, Joffrey, father’s death, Cersei… the darkness is too overshadowed by hope and promising possibilities. The light won in the end, just as the Sight hoped it would. And though darkness may still linger in my heart, I will never succumb to it again. I know who I am, what I’ve become over time, and I’m no longer ashamed. Life is not the lovely folktale I read in books as a child. It’s ugly and brutal, and I’m who I am because of it.

And just as I knew he would be, I find Tyrion sitting by the fireplace in the quiet kitchen. I can’t help but smile at the sight of him, his brow furrowed in deep thought as it often is these days. As Hand of the King, he steals the rare moments of peace he can. My footsteps are nearly silent before I place my hand on Tyrion’s shoulder in a moment of brief affection. He jerks a little, more in surprise than fear, and his brow immediately softens.

“Should have known you’d be joining me,” he says playfully. “Or are you on your way out and this is merely a brief farewell?”

“Not yet,” I say. “I wanted a moment with my brother before the city fully wakes.” I grab a fig from the countertop before sitting in the seat opposite of him. “And to grab a bite or two.”

Tyrion chuckles. “I must say, I’ve become quite used to your presence, sister. Rather fond of it, actually. It’s a shame we must part so soon.”

“It’s not forever,” I assure him. “We will see each other again.”

“Yes. Or you could-”

“Don’t say it.”

“stay here like you _really_ want to.”

I give him a look. “Tyrion, you of all people know why I can’t.”

“The Stark boy loves you,” he says simply. “He’d take you for his wife in a heartbeat. The happiest I’ve seen you is when you’re with him. And don’t try to deny it.”

I sigh, not ready to have this entire conversation yet again.

“Having another Lannister as queen would not only be detrimental to Robb, but to the kingdoms. So much progress has already been made and throwing me into it would only diverge its path. The people need a ruler they can trust. It was difficult enough for _Robb_ to acquire that trust after Daenerys fell.”

Tyrion takes a breath, folding his hands together and leaning forward.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard,” he says. “But we could handle any reprisal. We’ve handled far worse things, as you remember.”

“I will not undo all the good Robb has done for the people,” I say firmly. “And I will not cause them any more suffering than we’ve already endured. You don’t have to agree with my decision, but you must accept it.”

After a moment, Tyrion leans back defeated. His eyes find the fire.

“Very well,” he says.

I lean forward and take his hand, making him look at me once more.

“I know you’re afraid of losing me,” I tell him. “but you don’t need to be. I may be leaving but I’m not going anywhere. You’re my family. I sort of adore you, you know.”

A ghost of a smile forms on his lips.

“And what of Jaime?” he asks. “Will you go to him before you officially sail beyond?”

I shake my head. “My latest letter will have to suffice. The trip to Winterfell would set us back too long.”

“Or maybe you know he’d give you the same speech,” Tyrion says with a raised eyebrow.

I give him another look and he raises his hands.

“Alright, I yield. But I do have something for you before you go.”

“Oh?”

Tyrion reaches into his tunic before pulling out a roll of parchment. He hands it to me and I begin to unroll it, the confusion clear on my face.

“It’s from a friend of yours in Dorne,” he explains. “She’s been quite helpful in my search.”

“Search?” I look up at him.

He gestures to the letter and I begin to read.

The more I study the words in front of me, the less I believe. I feel as though my heart may burst, and I’m uncertain whether or not to let it. My fingers grip the parchment a little tighter, and by the time I reach Stalia’s signature, I’m at a complete loss for words. I look up at Tyrion, tears welling in my eyes.

“I assure you, it’s the truth,” he says.

“But-” I scan the letter again. “Leander… Leander had a daughter?”

Tyrion nods.

“Four years of age now, just about. Leander was the only family she had left. Her mother abandoned her a little over a year after she was born. When Leander followed his calling to become a Knight of the Vale, he left his daughter in the care of a family who was close to the woman you left him with, Ellya. He loved her very much, but he couldn’t risk her safety, especially since she herself was born a bastard.”

I shake his head. “But he never… he didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sure he would have, given the right moment, sister. And perhaps he was ashamed of leaving her behind. As I understand, he wasn’t very present, given the travel and his duties.”

I look back at the letter.

“This is addressed to you,” I say. “You were looking into Leander’s past?”

“Our king, actually,” Tyrion replies. “Robb wanted to reach any family Leander may have to let them know of his passing. When he received news of a little girl, well he wanted to make sure it was true. He had myself and a few trusted allies look into it. He didn’t want to get your hopes up only to have them fall so close to your loss.”

“Robb did this… for me?”

“Of course. You’re his heart, Lysandra. Though, he thought this should come from me, given the fact that this little girl is my great-niece, after all.” He leans forward and gestures to Stalia’s signature. “Jaime was helpful in Stalia’s location, and from there she’s been my most trusted source in Dorne.”

I brush away more tears, quickly getting ahold of myself.

“What’s her name?” I ask, my voice soft.

Tyrion smiles.

“Brannelle Sand. The family is expecting a visit from you as soon as you’re able.”

I shake my head and hand the letter back to Tyrion.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” I say. “To disrupt her life and this family’s. They must care for her so much.”

“The man and woman have grown frail, Lysandra. They can barely care for themselves, let alone a child. You would be disrupting nothing of the sort.”

“But-”

“What about your happiness, sister? When will that come first, I wonder?” He leans forward and takes my hand. “You’ve put others first long enough. _Meet_ the girl, at least. You know as well as I, it’s what your son would have wanted.”

I see the warmth in his familiar green eyes. I squeeze his hand.

“Alright.”

Down at the docks, Arya and I say farewell to our brothers. Arya embraces Robb tightly, having grown much closer to him whilst staying in King’s Landing.

“Don’t become a stranger,” Robb tells her as he releases her.

Arya gives him a half shrug. “You may get a letter or two from me, if I feel like it.”

Robb ruffles her hair and gives her a friendly push, to which she chuckles. She then gives Tyrion a curt but respectful nod and glances between me and Robb.

“I’ll be on the ship,” she tells me before heading off.

I nod and hug Tyrion one last time before kissing his cheek.

“Don’t get into too much trouble in my absence,” I tell him.

A smirk comes across his face.

“I’m appalled at your assumption. When have I ever?”

I give him a look and he winks.

“I’ll wait for you at the bridge, Your Grace,” Tyrion addresses Robb. Then he turns to me. “Farewell, sister. I expect word from you soon.”

“Of course.”

Finally, it’s just Robb and I beside the water. I take in his lazy curls and the sparkling sea in his blue eyes. He has that soft smile on his face that I fell in love with long ago. And that look… it’s the kind of look that makes me want to forget the rest of the world and stay… stay in the safety of his arms for the rest of our days.

He takes a breath and holds my hands gently in his.

“After all this time, it’s still hard to say goodbye to you,” he says.

“I know the feeling. Thank you, Robb, for everything you’ve done for me.”

He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. Without you… I wouldn’t even be here. Westeros will always be in your debt.”

Robb takes a step closer to me and presses a light, yet lingering kiss onto my lips. I place my hands on his chest and kiss him a second time, this time longer.

“I never _really_ wanted to kill you, you know.” He mumbles against my skin, pressing one last kiss to my forehead.

I lean back to look at him and raise an eyebrow.

“No?”

“I mean, not entirely,” he says, a bit sheepishly. “After my father was murdered, I lost sight of so many things. But the truth is from the moment I met you at the Twins... I suppose it’s childish to say, but I never wanted to part from you. I don’t think I’ve ever told you this but your eyes... it’s a gift to be looked upon by them. Full of kindness, but fit for a warrior.”

A moment of silence passes between us as his words linger in the air. Finally, he sighs.

“But now I suppose I have to let you go, don’t I?”

I place my hand on his cheek.

“I’m always with you. You know that.”

The corner of Robb’s mouth twitches slightly. He nods.

“Let me know when you find Brannelle, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

He kisses my palm before taking my hand into his own. I take a few steps back, holding onto his hand until the distance forces me to let go.

“Farewell, Stark.”

“Farewell, Lannister.”

I keep my eyes on him for as long as I can stand it before heading towards the departing ship.

“You didn’t even tell him how you feel?” Arya asks as I join her on the main deck.

“He knows how I feel.” I sigh. “Besides, it would only make things more difficult.”

“Right,” she says, clearly not convinced. “As if _that_ would be the thing that makes life more difficult.”

“You sound like you want someone _else_ to be sailing with you.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Though, being stuck on a ship with your brother was not on my list of ideal situations.”

I give her a look. “Tyrion is staying behind with Robb. He _is_ the Hand of the King, you know.”

She gives me a knowing look and smirks at something behind me.

“You thought you could leave without saying goodbye?”

I know the owner of the voice before I even turn around. There stands Jaime. A neatly trimmed beard rests on his face, and his smile turns into a grin as he takes in the shock on my face. He holds out his arms to me.

“Jaime?” I say. I’m overcome with such emotion I can’t help but throw my arms tightly around him. “What are you doing here?”

My brother holds me firm, laughing at my reaction. I release him and keep my hands on his shoulders, shaking my head.

“It was Tyrion’s idea, really,” he tells me. “We thought you could use a couple friendly faces for your trip to Dorne. I know this is a lot for you, and I’ve promised to be there for you. So I hope you’ll let me do this.”

I smile at him, fighting back tears I haven’t felt in quite some time. A relief, a joy, that I haven’t allowed myself to feel.

“Thank you, brother.”

***

The journey to Dorne was fairly uneventful, with very few stops and plenty of time with Jaime and Arya. The bickering between the two of them has been very comical, but I think they’ve grown on each other whether they’d like to admit it or not.

It’s strange, but I can sense an unseen pull the closer I get to the city, the closer that we get to our destination. My heart also aches, for I can feel the loss of Myrcella and Jaime’s heavy heart as the memory creeps back onto the surface, though he says nothing about it. I walk a little closer to him and every so often place a hand on his shoulder; he smiles at me, as if needing a reminder that he’s not alone. Arya stays a step or so behind, intent on keeping an eye on the surroundings, lest there be a trap in play.

As we get closer to the small home on the edge of the city, Jaime takes my arm in his.

“It will be alright, Little Shadow.”

“Distract me, please. Tell me about Winterfell.”

Jaime smiles to himself before speaking.

“Queen Sansa has certainly made a name for herself. The people love her, and Jon Snow as well. Though, not as much as his little girl.”

“And Brienne?”

“She is excelling, though that’s a surprise to no one. She is very much feared and loved.”

“And what of the two of you?”

He hesitates. “That… is slightly more complicated.”

“Only slightly?”

“Alright, _very_ complicated.”

“She still hasn’t forgiven you.”

“No.” he sighs. “but she can’t be blamed for it. I’ve made a lot of mistakes I must atone for, as you well know.”

“And you still love her.”

His silence answers everything.

I pull him a touch closer. “It will be alright, brother.”

Jaime suddenly stops, his smile fading into a look of awe. I follow his gaze and my heart nearly drops in my chest. After a moment of pause, I slowly leave Jaime’s gentle grip and venture a few steps forward.

There, in front of a small cottage tucked away in the walls of the city, stands an older couple, and in front of them a little girl no more than a few years of age. Her green eyes sparkle from the sea crashing not far behind us. Her golden hair has been chopped and rests in waves just below her chin. Her figure is slender, perhaps too much so, as some of the bones in her physique are more prominent than they should be. She’s wearing an orange dress that flows easily in the wind, light enough to withstand Dorne’s heat.

She looks… so much like the people I love most. So much like her father.

Her expression is solemn as she looks at the newcomers. There is no fear, nor suspicion or even anger.

“Did you know my papa?” she asks in a gentle, but clear voice.

I look to Arya and then Jaime before turning back to the little girl.

“Yes,” I reply.

I look to the couple and they nod. I carefully approach and kneel down in front of the girl so we’re closer to eye-level.

“My name is Lysandra,” I tell her. “This is my brother Jaime and my dear friend Arya. We were… friends of your papa’s.”

“He is gone now,” she says, as if reminding herself. “I’ve seen. My name is Brannelle. I want to know about him. And you.”

I smile sadly. “It is not a happy tale, I’m afraid.”

“I want to know.”

I pause.

“What do you mean, you’ve ‘seen’?”

She glances over her shoulder, then leans a bit closer to me.

“Sometimes I see things I’m not supposed to.”

My eyebrows furrow, but I keep my expression composed. The gentleness in her voice warms my broken heart.

“I see,” I say with a nod. “We have much to discuss.”

And without another word, Brannelle takes me by the hand and leads me into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've reached the end of Chapter 34 - Rise of the Seven Kingdoms / A Journey's End.
> 
> Words cannot express how grateful I am to all of you for being SO patient during my hiatus. I can't believe there's only one chapter left of Lannister Blood. This story means so much to me, as do all of the readers who have taken the time to adopt this story into their hearts. Thank you all SO much. As always, please vote and comment if you can. It truly means a lot!
> 
> Any guesses or wishes for the final chapter of Lannister Blood? I hope to do the end justice. :) 
> 
> The finale/epilogue, Chapter 35, will be released December 31st.


	35. Epilogue

**SEVEN YEARS LATER**

White Harbor

“You’ll take an eye out if you hold your sword like that, Brannelle. Keep a better grip on your hilt… Now deflect… wonderful! There you go.”

“My deflecting would be exceptional if you kept your words to yourself, Uncle Jaime.”

My brother raises an eyebrow at the young girl before looking at me.

“She gets her sharp tongue from you, you know,” he says.

I laugh, folding the map in my hands and shrugging.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to, brother.”

The two have been training like this since dawn, and each day Brannelle gets even more masterful with a sword, even at such a young age. I believe it’s helped Jaime as well, as he’s a far better fighter with his one hand now. Though, he’ll never be at his best, which is something he’ll have to live with until the end of his days. But he knows things could be far worse.

“Alright,” Jaime says, clashing his sword with Brannelle’s once more. “Go find Arya, she’s around here somewhere. A fresh victim for you.”

“Oh, you’ve given up?” Brannelle teases, swinging her blonde braid over her shoulder and grinning.

He narrows his eyes playfully and levels his sword at her.

“Out of my sight now,” he growls. “or feel my wrath.”

She laughs and begins to run off the docked ship.

“Don’t stray too far,” I call after her. She waves her hand in response before disappearing into a nearby crowd.

“She’ll be alright,” Jaime says, coming to stand next to me. “Arya never lets that girl out of her sight, even if Arya herself is nowhere to be seen.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I believe you worry too much, sister.”

I give him a look. “And how could I not? With the lands we’ve visited, every one of them has some kind of foreign magic deep within the roots, magic she and I feel a pull to. Who’s to say it won’t find its way to Westeros one day? You and I know too well the detriment of magic and dark beings.”

“Yes, yes.” He waves it off. “But that worry line between your brows is going to leave a scar.”

He pokes at the space and I roll my eyes, pushing his hand away. He grins and places a hand on my shoulder.

“Lysandra, the people of those lands have been amiable. There hasn’t been a true threat to Westeros in years. We’re all doing our part; training new soldiers, discovering new worlds across the seas, keeping Westeros safe and aware of what lies beyond. You’re the one that came up with the band of people that assist our cause, the Seekers of the Unknown, remember? We’ve got quite a crew I must say.”

I smile and shake my head. The Seekers of the Unknown is a group that has been in play since nearly a year into Arya and I’s expedition. It was something I had mentioned to Robb when we finally returned to King’s Landing to deliver a report of our discoveries. He was all too willing to assist in assembling the idea officially, and imagine my surprise when my brother Jaime was our first volunteer. He claims it’s something that has come to interest him, the travelling and discovery, but I believe it’s always been about Brannelle. Despite the danger, I took Brannelle on the journey not long after meeting her. She’s been a bright young girl from the start, wise beyond her years. She shares a connection to the Sight that neither of us quite understand, and probably never will. But there is always this feeling that hangs over the two of us, like there’s something waiting for us beyond our understanding. Whether it’s good or bad, I’m not sure, but I’d rather avoid the thought entirely.

Jaime has been drawn to the girl from the beginning. Where I see Leander, I believe Jaime sees Myrcella. Jaime eventually left the Queensguard to join our cause, returning to Winterfell whenever he’s able in order to see Brienne. The two were wed a few years ago, though the road to it was difficult and questionable at times. However, despite the distance, I’ve never seen two people more loyal to each other. Though I know Jaime desires children, even though he’d never admit it, and with the duties of himself and Ser Brienne… it just hasn’t made it possible for them. And as for Brannelle and Jaime, the two are nearly inseparable.

“It’ll be strange to be back in Winterfell,” I say, changing the topic. “It seems as though it’s been forever for me.”

“I understand your avoidance of the city,” Jaime replies. “It holds too many memories, and emotions, perhaps?”

I nod. “Though it’s become less difficult over the years.”

“Well, when the queen specifically requests your presence at her wedding, I don’t think even you can decline.”

“And I wouldn’t want to.” I smile. “It’s been so long since Sansa could trust someone so dearly, let alone give her heart to someone. Even her siblings have said they’ve never seen their sister this happy. I wouldn’t miss this.”

“I had hoped it wouldn’t be in the dead of winter,” Jaime grumbles. “But here we are, nonetheless.”

“You think you’d be used to the cold by now,” I say, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Besides, this isn’t the worst winter we’ve endured.”

“How could I forget?” Jaime says with mild disdain. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a letter. “A raven arrived this morning.”

“Tyrion?” I ask.

“Bronn. Apparently, King Robb’s establishment of Leander’s Law is finally being accepted by a majority of the kingdom.” He hands the letter to me. “Bastards everywhere are being given a proper namesake.”

I smile down at the words. “He’s worked so hard to protect them.”

Jaime nods. “It’s far less demeaning to be a bastard in these times, that much is certain. It’s because of the king that Brannelle shares the name Lannister, just as she should.”

“Yes, there’s much to be grateful for.”

“And yet, you’re still concerned about the dangers beyond our home.”

I meet his eyes. “Yes. But I want us to think on good things this next fortnight. It is a time to celebrate.”

The two of us begin to head off our ship and towards White Harbor to meet with Lord Manderly.

“And what about the Wolf King?” Jaime asks. “Have you thought of what you’ll say to him? A confession, perhaps?”

I shoot him an annoyed glance.

“Will you and Tyrion ever let this go?”

“Not until the two of you stop being so foolish,” he replies with a smirk. “Robb hasn’t so much as looked at another woman in his time of being king.”

“So says Tyrion,” I point out.

“And I can say the same for you. You’ve kept that heart of yours locked away since you first left King’s Landing.”

“Enough, brother.”

He raises a hand in defeat.

“As you wish,” he says.

The truth of the matter is, Robb and I have grown more distant, especially over the past couple of years. Letters became less frequent, our interactions have been mainly business-related, but I don’t believe that connection between us has ever truly faded. Whenever I see his face, it’s as if it’s for the first time. My heart quickens just as it always has, and I find myself using every ounce of control I have not to give in to my heart.

We’ll arrive in Winterfell tomorrow, and Sansa’s wedding is only a few days away. We’re welcomed as guests in Winterfell for as long as we’d like, just as we always have been. It’s always difficult for Sansa and Jon to say goodbye to Arya, as it’s never known quite how long our next journey will take, and I believe one day they hope she’ll choose to stay in Winterfell. But Arya has always been an adventurer, and I don’t foresee her settling in to a true home anytime soon.

We spot Arya and Brannelle not far beyond the gates of the city. And it’s strange, because even though we spend so much time away from Westeros these days, it still feels all too natural to walk its grounds once again.

**Winterfell**

I walk alone through the training grounds. Blade hits blade and young knights laugh and jest with their opponents. I smile into the cool air, stopping at the center and watching the controlled chaos unfold. Snowflakes settle against my eyelashes and the winter wind causes me to close my eyes, drinking everything in. The memories, good and bad, and the simple feeling of being back here… And maybe it’s the Sight, but I can hear the echoes of past memories in Winterfell. The first time I trained with Arya, the first time I looked into Leander’s eyes and truly saw him.

The sound of a new march of footsteps causes me to jolt from my reverie. I turn to see none other than the Hand of the Queen, Jon Snow. He’s walking with a few of the guards, including Ghost. One of them says something that makes him laugh, a sound that is always welcome to my ears. His black hair is a little shorter than I remember, but his beard is still long as it combats the cold. He turns to me mid laugh, and for a moment we just stare at each other. Seeing him brings me so much joy, I can hardly handle it. I can’t remember the last time we spoke.

“I should’ve known you’d sneak into the city rather just stopping by with a proper greeting,” Jon says over the wind, his surprised smile growing.

“Yes, it seems you’re in need of new guards, I’m afraid. You’re losing your touch, Snow.”

He raises an eyebrow and I give a little shrug in response. Barely another moment passes before we both grin.

“Jon,” I say, laughing and shaking my head.

I meet him halfway and throw my arms around him. We hold each other tightly and he gently claps my back. When we release each other, he keeps my arms in his firm hands. An easy smile rests on his face.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice gruff from the cold.

“And what about you?” I gesture to his well-fitted attire. “Being Hand of the Queen suits you well.”

He smiles. “I’ve missed you.”

I place my hand over his.

“And I you, my friend. How is Lyanna? And Sansa?”

“Both flourishing in the North, as to be expected. They’ll both be thrilled to see you. Where is the rest of your party?”

“Giving a proper greeting, I expect,” I say, playfully nudging his shoulder as we walk. “Except for maybe Arya. I’m sure she’s lurking somewhere close.”

“The similarities between the two of you are hard to miss,” he remarks with a shake of his head. “I’ll be glad to see her again. It seems like it’s been-”

“Too long,” I finish. “It has. That’s my fault, I’m afraid.”

Jon only squeezes my arm gently in comfort, not needing to ask what I mean. The memories are a heavy load for him to bear as well.

“Robb and Tyrion arrived the day before you,” he finally says as we enter the heart of the city. I find him studying my reaction for a moment before he turns his attention back up front.

I shake my head. “When was the last time we were all in one place? I can hardly remember.”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But leave it to something as special as this to bring us all together again.”

“And this fellow that’s won Sansa’s heart, you approve?”

Jon nods. “I do. Theon introduced the two of them, you know. Sometimes I think he knows her better than I do.”

“Does Theon ever leave your sister’s side?”

“Rarely,” he chuckles. Then he sighs. “I don’t ever think he’ll forgive himself for what he did to our family all those years ago.”

“But you’ve forgiven him.”

“Robb has; so can I.”

The two of us swap stories about raising children and the adventures of Westeros and beyond. We talk of families, the past, even the Sight in passing. But what sticks out to me is the fact that Bran has returned to Winterfell, but not just for Sansa’s wedding. For good. He’s been in King’s Landing assisting Robb in his journey of kinghood.

Apparently Bran spends most of his time in the Godswood these days, staring at what only the Three Eyed Raven can see. There was no letter or announcement of his return, so Jon and Sansa were rather surprised at his permanent arrival. The last time I saw Bran must have been at least a year ago. I vow to make time to visit him before my next departure.

The Queen of Winterfell holds a mighty feast the night before her wedding. Lannister, Stark, and every House name alike shares a meal in merriment. Tyrion, Jaime, Brienne, myself, and a few others take part in a drinking game unlike any I’ve been a part of in a long time. Brannelle and Lyanna spend time with Arya, Jon, and Sansa. Little Lyanna has the vibrant hair of her mother, and the peacefully cold blue eyes of her father. Her and Brannelle look like complete opposites, but they complement each other perfectly. Their friendship has developed fast, despite the age difference.

As much as I’ve tried to avoid the idea, I can’t help but wonder where Robb is. I spotted him at the beginning of the feast, but cowardly avoided more than a cordial greeting before slinking off into the crowd. Now, the drunker I get, the harder it is to spot him. It’s the first time in so long I don’t have to worry about letting my guard down. There’s no assassin poisoning our drinks this time.

“You’ve drank far more than me,” Tyrion slurs heavily at me. “How are you so present?”

“I bet it’s the assassin trait,” Jaime grins cheekily to Brienne, who surprisingly grins back.

“I am simply better than both of you,” I reply, taking another long gulp of wine.

“I’ll drink to that,” Brienne says, raising her cup to me.

Jaime waves his hand. “Alright, alright. Onto the next.” He points at me. “You once tried to drown me in Blackwater Bay.”

I snort a little, happily drinking from my cup.

Brienne’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t exactly try to drown him,” I point out. “I simply wanted to drown him a little.”

“I knew it wasn’t an accident!” Jaime exclaims victoriously.

“You pushed me in!” I argue. “Forgive me for retaliating.”

Brienne narrows his eyes. “You two are-”

“Brilliant?” Tyrion offers.

“Fiercely vigilant?” I ask.

“Unabashedly handsome?” Jaime chimes in.

“Related.” She gives the three of us a pointed look. “Without question.”

We all burst into laughter, barely able to catch our breaths.

Something grey catches the corner of my eye. I follow its path to a partially open doorway, revealing a dark sky and snow slowly falling in the light of the outside torches. Beside the knob, I can see a familiar direwolf peeking in before disappearing. The door shuts quietly after it.

I excuse myself from the game, much to the chagrin of my brothers, and head towards the doorway. I pull on my furs and make my way outside. The laughter and cheering fades as the door closes behind me. It’s so quiet under the winter night sky. I see another glimpse of grey leading me away from the gathering and I follow the pawprints left behind in the snow. The wine keeps my insides warm for the time being, and a buzz of happiness still remains from its effects.

The pawprints eventually lead to the Crypts. The torches are lit, leading the way through the tunnels, but I don’t have to venture far. I find Robb studying the rebuilt statue of his father, with Grey Wind sitting closely beside him. Grey Wind sees me first, and when I approach the two of them he greets me with a nuzzle to my side. I scratch behind his ears. Robb looks at the two of us and smiles.

“Somehow I knew you’d find me,” he says.

“Well, I had a little help.”

He chuckles a bit, then his gaze turns solemn as he looks back to Ned’s statue.

“I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately,” Robb says. “I’m not certain why. But tonight, with Sansa’s ceremony tomorrow… I just found myself wishing I could speak with him. Just one more time.”

A tear falls down his cheek, illuminated by the torchlight.

“I wish he could be here for this,” he whispers.

I step forward, suddenly forgetting my caution or how breathtaking his gaze makes me feel. I don’t stop until I’m right beside him, taking his arm and holding him close to me. I place my free hand on his chest.

“He is, Robb. He’ll always be with you.”

More tears fall as Robb rests his head against mine. Grey Wind lets out a low howl before letting the quietness of the Crypts consume us all. The torches flicker now and then, casting shadows among the stone walls.

“I’ve missed you,” I finally say, keeping my voice quiet.

He presses a gentle kiss to my hair.

“I’ve missed you too.”

***

The ceremony is simple and beautiful. Full of gentle faces and forever vows. Sansa’s dress easily stuns the crowd, adorned with red weirwood leaves of her own creation. It’s held in the Godswood, and a light snow fall starts, but the love in the air keeps out the cold. Brannelle stands on one side of me, and Jaime the other. The Stark siblings stand close to their sister, soft smiles on all of their faces, even Bran.

Afterwards, I find myself lingering deeper into the Godswood instead of towards the celebration that will be sure to last for the rest of the day. The silence is both peaceful and unsettling and my past sneaks into my mind. The battle with the Night King, saving Theon, my blood soaking the winter snow, seeing Robb’s face before everything faded away…

“They’re looking for you.”

I turn to see Robb, quietly leaning against one of the trees.

“You snuck up on me,” I say with a soft smile. “I must be getting rusty.”

He shakes his head, pushing himself from the tree and walking towards me.

“You seemed to be deep in thought,” he says. “I suppose I don’t need to ask. That night seems so long ago now, doesn’t it?”

I stare off into the snow covered wood.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” Robb continues. I feel his arm brush my own as he gets closer. “That night… that last moment… do you remember what you said to me?”

I hold off tears that threaten to form in my eyes. It’s almost like I can see the horrid event right in front of me. I can feel the pain, and every other emotion felt here. It’s as if I’m reliving it all over again.

“I said ‘I am yours, and you are mine’.” I turn to him and can see the longing in his eyes. “It didn’t seem fair for me to die before knowing what it would feel like to be your wife.”

Robb takes my face in his hands, bringing his forehead to mine.

“I would’ve married you that day or any day,” he says softly.

I close my eyes at the words. I gently pull his hands away and take a step back.

“Nothing but time has changed, Robb,” I tell him. “Not the circumstance, and nor my heart.”

“I will not wed to anyone else,” he says firmly.

I move forward again and place my hand on his cheek.

“Nor will I. I will always be yours, and knowing that will have to be enough.”

I walk out of the woods before my heart can shatter any further.

When the day finally comes for my departure, Jaime knocks at my door before entering. He rubs his palms together before releasing them to his sides. I can feel his hesitation, sense it. His attire shows he’s ready to travel, but he’s not wearing that impish grin he usually gets when it’s time for another adventure.

“You’re not coming with me, are you?”

He looks directly at me then, surprise on his face.

“How do you do that?” he asks. “How do you always know what I’m about to say?”

I give him a gentle smile.

“Because you’re my brother. And… well you know I can sense these things.”

He chuckles half-heartedly.

“It’s just…” he trails off and collects himself. “Being with Brienne after being away for so long… I want to go, I do. But-”

“But it’s impossible to leave her,” I say. Robb’s smile enters my mind. “I understand.”

Jaime suddenly shakes his head. “No, I can’t do that to you and Brannelle. Having the two of you in my life has made me… better. I won’t abandon you, not after I promised I wouldn’t.”

“Nonsense, brother.” I take his hands in mine. “You have kept your promise and you will continue to keep it from afar. This isn’t a final goodbye. It never will be. And Brannelle, I think some time in Winterfell is just what she needs.”

Jaime furrows his brows. “You’re not taking her?”

“The constant travel, the potential dangers, it’s no way to raise a young girl.” Tears well up in my eyes. “I’ll talk to her. She’ll understand one day. And I need you to take good care of her, and I know you will.”

Jaime clenches his jaw to hold back his own tears.

“Can’t you stay? You’ve always talked about how much you want children. If you leave-”

“Jaime.”

He closes his eyes, then brings me in for a tight hug. The two of us notice Tyrion hovering by the door and we break apart, wiping our eyes.

“Always eavesdropping,” I say through a shaky laugh.

My little brother smiles sadly. He holds out his hand and I take it.

“After all this time,” Tyrion says. “I’ll never get used to saying goodbye to you.”

I wipe more tears away and take a breath to steady myself. I look between the two of them.

“If either of you ever need me…” I trail off, taking every aspect of their features in to commit it to memory. “You don’t need letters or ravens, you need only to think of me. Think of me, call for me, and through dragon fire or shards of ice, I will come for you.”

I lean down to kiss Tyrion’s cheek before embracing him. I take his hand in mine one more time, and Jaime’s in the other. And with one final look, I’m unable to say goodbye. Instead, I smile through the tears and walk out of the room.

***

“But why can’t we go together?” Brannelle asks, fierceness already in her eyes. “You and Arya have been training me. I can look out for myself.”

“I know you can, my girl. And you’ll continue your training here.” I lean forward conspiratorially. “Jon Snow is a well-known fighter, but I think one day you’ll be able to best him.”

She can’t help but smile at the very thought. Then she shakes her head.

“What if you don’t come back?”

“I will.”

“But how long will you be?”

“You know I don’t have that answer right now. Brannelle, think of this as an exciting change. We’ve been travelling for so long, you now have a chance to see how you feel about Winterfell. About Westeros. And if it truly is terrible, I will return for you.”

She hesitates. “Do you promise?”

I take her hand. “I swear on the old gods and the new. But you’ll be with people who love you. Your uncle Jaime will take good care of you. All will be well, and I will return.”

“But I can feel something is coming, grandmother. I can feel it. Can’t you?”

I hesitate, which I know she senses. Brannelle has been able to pick up on little things as she’s grown. Emotions, predictions, much like my connection with the Sight. But they’re very subtle for the most part. And I know that keeping her in Winterfell for a while is an even smarter choice than I realized. Whatever dangers lie ahead, I will find it.

“I don’t want you to worry,” I tell her. “Don’t dismiss it, but do not worry. If anything happens, I promise we’ll face it together. Alright?”

She nods and embraces me. I rub her back.

“I love you, little lion.”

“I love you too,” Brannelle says through her tears.

I see Robb in the distance, hesitating on approaching us. I pull away from Brannelle and smile at her, adjusting the furs around her.

“I think King Robb,” I speak a little louder so he can hear me, “is going to train with you for a bit.”

“I am?” he asks, amusement on his face. “Yes… I am.”

He holds out his hand to Brannelle. She looks at me before smiling and running over to join him. The two head off while I make my way to the Godswood, feeling drawn to say one final goodbye.

Bran sits in his chair near the weirwood tree, facing away from me. I approach him, not willing to enter directly into the Godswood again so soon. I know he senses me. I can feel his mind wandering through the darkness.

“You can sense something, can’t you?” But it’s more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” he answers simply. He doesn’t offer any more than that.

“And this feeling I have?” I ask.

“It’s far more than a feeling, I’d say.”

I move so that I’m finally standing in front of him. He vaguely regards me, his expression pale and blank in the winter cold.

“I’d rather not speak in riddles,” I say, my voice harsher than I anticipate.

Bran slowly cocks his head to the side.

“The threat is dormant, Lady Lysandra. But for how long, it is uncertain. It may happen far beyond any of our lifetimes. Long after the names Stark and Lannister fade into history.” He returns his gaze to the trees. “There is no life in waiting for darkness.”

“So you expect me to ignore the danger that could be lurking behind us at any moment?”

“I expect you to stop living in the dark,” Bran says. He stares at me with that empty stare again. “I don’t know how much longer the darkness you seek will avoid you before it consumes you.”

His eyes move somewhere else, and I follow their gaze to Robb and Brannelle training playfully in the distance. Brannelle takes a swing at Robb, making him laugh in impressed amusement.

“The Sight has guided you into and through the darkness,” Bran adds quietly. “Allow it to lead you into the light. At least for a little while.”

I contemplate his words.

“I think it’s a little too late for that.”

He turns to me once more.

“Is it?”

***

When I find Robb on the training grounds, Brannelle has switched to wooden swords as she plays with Lyanna. He keeps a watchful eye on them, making sure they’re far enough away from the other knights. He lets out a gentle laugh before giving them both some helpful direction. Brannelle fixes the way Lyanna is holding her sword, and the young girl giggles before taking a quick swing.

I stand beside him, the two girls unaware of my presence as they continue their fun. I feel Robb’s eyes on me.

“I was wondering when you’d get to me,” he says a touch playfully. “You’re getting rather good at farewells, I’d say.”

I take a deep breath, watching the two girls laugh and tap each other with their swords.

“You’re troubled,” Robb says, turning fully to me now. “What is it?”

“Nothing that can be helped,” I say.

He brushes his hand against mine. A subtle touch, but enough to warm my heart.

“Can I walk you to the gates, at least?”

“I think… I might stay. Just for a little while longer.”

I turn to him then, taking in the smile forming on his face. Without warning, he presses his lips to mine. The falling snow settles against us, but I hardly notice anything beyond Robb’s touch. The laughter and clanging of swords fade, and all I’m left with is the one home I’ve been drawn to from the very beginning.

All is well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> Wow, you guys! We finally reached the end of Lannister Blood! I sincerely appreciate all the love and support from all of you, especially when I took my hiatus. Writing this for you has been a privilege. I can't thank you enough! Getting to know and grow with the character of Lysandra has been so fulfilling. I hope you all feel justified with the ending. You deserve it. :)
> 
> I'm really going to miss writing this story, but I'm excited for what the future will bring. If you have any requests of fandoms/characters in any universe, let me know! I'll be taking a break for a little while but I'm already itching to write the next fan fiction. I hope I'll see you all again in the next story. Until then, stay safe and be happy. <3


End file.
